THE  LIBRARY 

OF 

THE  UNIVERSITY 

OF  CALIFORNIA 
LOS  ANGELES 


//( 


/ 


r  T 


FROM  THE  COLLECTION  OF 

F.  L.  OLMSTFDJR. 
LOWTHORPE  SCaoOL 


FIELD     PATHS     AND 
GEEEN     LANES. 


Digitized  by  tine  Internet  Arciiive 

in  2008  witii  funding  from 

IVIicrosoft  Corporation 


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FIELD     PATHS     m 

GKEEN    LANES. ^ 


COUNTRY    WALKS,    CHIEFLY    IN    SUEEEY 
AND    SUSSEX. 


By    LOUIS    J.   JENNINGS. 


ILLUSTRATED    WITH     SKETCHES     BY    J     VA    WHYMPER. 


NEW  YORK: 
D.    APPLETON    AND    COMPANY, 

549  AND  551  BROADWAY. 

1878. 


DA 


PEEFACE. 


I  AM  not  without  hope  that  this  little  book 
will  prove  interesting,  and  in  some  degree 
useful,  to  those  who  find  an  unfailing  source  of 
pleasure  in  wandering  over  England,  deeming 
nothing  unworthy  of  notice,  whether  it  be  an 
ancient  church  or  homestead,  a  grand  old  tree,  a 
wild  flower  under  a  hedge,  or  a  stray  rustic  by 
the  road  side.  To  anyone  who  has  eyes,  there 
is  much  to  see  in  this  small  but  infinitely  varied 
England,  so  much  that,  as  Emerson  says,  to 
see  it  well,  "needs  a  hundred  years."  If  a 
man  cannot  walk,  it  is  perhaps  better  to  ride  or 
drive  through  the  country  than  not  to  see  it  at 
all ;  but  walking  is  the  best  of  all  kno^\m  means 
of  getting  from  one  place  to  another  ;  and  take 
care  to  go  with  no  other  companions  than  the 
Handbook   and  a  pocket-compass,  for  then  you 


vi  Preface. 

can  cry  halt  wherever  you  please,  and  have 
no  one's  whims  or  oddities  to  perplex  and 
harass  you.  It  is  not  possible  to  feel  solitary 
amid  Nature's  works,  any  more  than  to  be 
lonely  with  all  your  books  about  you.  More- 
over, if  you  are  trudging  along  unfettered 
by  a  companion,  you  may,  by  proper  manage- 
ment, get  the  country  folks  w^hom  you  meet 
to  talk  to  you,  and  from  them  pick  up  many  a 
quaint  saying  or  odd  scrap  of  information  ;  but 
they  are  as  shy  of  the  tourists  who  hunt  in 
couples  as  they  are  of  the  wild  man  who  flies 
past  them  on  a  bicycle. 

In  these  little  expeditions  of  mine,  I  seldom 
lost  an  ojDportunity  of  having  a  few  minutes'  chat 
with  the  wayfarers  on  the  road,  and  what  they 
said  to  me,  or  I  to  them,  I  have  faithfully  set 
down.  No  attempt  has  been  made  to  exhaust 
the  attractions  of  any  particular  district,  unless 
it  be  the  tract  of  country  for  a  dozen  miles  or 
so  round  Dorking,  to  which  a  tolerably  thorough 
guide  will  be  found  in  some  of  the  Surrey 
chapters.     All  the  walks  described  have  been 


Preface.  vii 

taken  during  the  past  year,  during  every  month 
of  which,  in  spite  of  all  that  is  said  adverse  to 
the  English  climate,  I  found  it  not  only  pos- 
sible, but  extremely  pleasant,  to  go  forth  upon 
my  rambles  whenever  an  opportunity  offered 
itself. 

I  have  invariably  followed  a  green  lane  or 
a  field  path,  wherever  one  could  be  found,  and 
have  endeavoured  to  give  directions  which  will 
enable  others  to  follow  it  also,  for  very  seldom 
is  it  marked  upon  the  maps.  All  that  can  be 
done  is  to  ascertain  the  general  direction,  and 
jog  along  without  further  thought  of  the  matter. 
Most  of  my  walks  were  through  secluded  dis- 
tricts, abounding  often  with  the  wildest  scenery; 
yet  it  would  be  possible,  by  an  early  start  and 
the  skilful  use  of  the  railroad,  for  a  Londoner  to 
take  the  best  of  them,  and  return  to  his  home 
to  sleep.  I  trust  that  the  hints  to  this  effect 
which  I  have  thrown  out  in  the  course  of 
these  pages,  will  induce  many  a  jaded  towns- 
man to  betake  himself  to  the  fields  and  hills, 
and  be  of  some  help,   too,  to   my  American 


viii  Preface. 

friends,  who  are  willing  to  sec  far  more  of  this 
country  than  they  generally  do,  if  they  only 
knew  how  to  set  about  it.  There  are  few 
things  in  life  better  ♦worth  living  for  than  the 
pleasure  of  starting  out  on  foot,  in  fair  health, 
and  with  no  particular  anxiety  pressing  upon 
the  mind,  for  a  long  day  amid  all  the  beauties 
which  Nature  spreads  before  her  true  lovers  by 
every  hedgerow  and  brook  and  hill-side  in 
England, 


CONTENTS. 

CHAPTER    I. 

WINCHELSEA   AND   RYE. 

PAGE 

Old  "Spithccad  and  Portsmouth." — A  wondrous  "Sea  Change." — 
St.  Thomas's  Church. — Old  and  New. — The  Friars. — History 
of  Winchelsea  by  a  Native. — The  Road  to  Camber  Castle  and 
Rye. — Sheep  Farming. — A  City  of  the  Past.— Rye  Church. — 
The  Reflections  of  a  Sexton. — The  Butcher  and  the  Lamb. — 
The  "Mermaid." — Peacock's. — The  Plague. — Where  is  the 
"  Mermaid  ?  "—The  Dutch  Tiles  and  Lone  Widow.— A  Field 
Walk  to  Hastings.— The  Hermit  of  the  Beaoh  ...         1 

CHAPTER    II. 

ROUND  ABOUT  HASTINGS. 

Sunshine  and  Storms. — A  Dark  New  Year's  Day. — The  Fishermen  of 
Hastings.  — Getting  under  Weigh. — To  Fairlight  by  the  Beach. 
— The  Churchyard. —  The  Sexton's  Story. — Bexhill. — Modern 
Protestantism. — The  Two  Bricklayers. — Hove  and  Catsfield      .       19 

CHAPTER    III. 

TWO   OLD   CHURCHES. 

Crowhurst  and  Etchingham. — Tlie  Road  to  Crowhurst. — -The  Wild 
Flowers  of  Winter. — Modern  Houses  and  Old  Ruins. — The 
famous  Yew  Tree. — Californian  Trees. — Yews  in  Churchyards. 
— Etchingham  and  its  Church. — The  Village  Graves. — Spring 
Time  in  Sussex.— A  Specimen  of  "Old  Sussex." — "Ameri- 
canisms."— Burwash,  or  "  Burghersh." — The  Parish  Clerk  and 
his  Ancestors. — The  Iron  Slab. — A  Request  for  Information. — 
The  Use  of  a  Wife.— A  Walk  to  Robertsbridge         .         .         .36 


Contents. 


CHAPTER    IV. 

THREE  CASTLES -PEVENSEY,    HURSTMONCEUX,    AND 
BODIAM. 

PAGE 

"Anclerida»" — Old  Churches  made  New. — The  Road  across  the 
Marsh. — "Nairn  about  Flowers." — The  Castle  and  Church  at 
Hurstraonceux. — Extinct  Yeomanry  Families. — Two  Barns,  one 
Old  and  one  New. — Gardner  Street. — Tipsy  England. — Ilail- 
sham. — A  Relic  of  the  Van-Cortlandts.— The  Road  to  Rodiam. 
— Salehunst  and  its  Church. — A  Morning  Rouquet. — The  Fair 
Warden  of  Bodiam         .         .         .         .         ....       51 

CHAPTER    V. 

MAYFIELD. 

Ancient  Sussex. —The  Home  of  Legend  and  Fahlc. — St.  Dunstan's 
Fight  with  the  Evil  One.— The  Sacred  Tongs.— A  Field  Path 
to  Mayfield.— The  Black.smith's  Forge.— An  Old-Fadiioned 
Inn.— Mayfield  Church.— Iron  Slabs  of  Sussex  Work.— The 
Restorer  again.— The  Protestant  Martyrs. — The  Roman  Catholic 
"Revival." — Mayfield  Palace. — The  Chapel  and  Relics. — The 
Old  Houses  of  Mayfield.— Rotherficld  and  the  Way  Back  .       64 

CHAPTER    VI. 

ALFRISTON   AND   WILMINGTON. 

Echoes  of  War.— The  Nightingale.—"  Happy  England."— The  South 
Downs. — Alfriston  and  the  "Star"  Inn. — Another  "Resto- 
ration."— An  Ancient  Vicarage. — -Content  in  a  Cottage. — 
Wanted,  a  Minister. — The  Lone  Man  of  Wilmington. — The 
Prioijand  Church. — An  Old  Grave  and  a  New  Tenant. — A  line 
from  the  "Short  and  Simple  Annals  of  the  Poor."— The  South 
Downs  beyond  Wilmington. — Where  to  find  Cowslixis        .         .       73 

CHAPTER    VII. 

IN  THE  SOUTH   DOW^NS. 

From  Pulborough  to  Storrington. — The  Mysterious  Stranger. — 
Parham    Park.— A    Country    Inn.— The    "  Workus."— From 


Contents.  xi 


Storrington  to  the  Devil's  Dyke. — The  Phantoms  of  the 
Downs. — Washington. — Chanctonburj'  Ring. — Wiston  House. — 
Steyning  and  Bramber.  — The  Bird- stuff er. — Sickle  versus  Steam. 
— South  Down  Sheep  and  Grass      ......       86 

CHAPTER    Vin. 

HAYWARDS   HEATH   TO   EAST   GRINSTEAD. 

Another  "Country  Inn." — An  Uncomfortable  Night.— The  Rich 
Man  from  London. — Cuckfield. — A  Vision  at  the  King's  Head. 
— The  Haunted  House. — Lindfield  and  its  Church. — Pax  Hill. 
— Horsted  Keynes. — Arcadian  Shepherds  Carousing. — Broad- 
hurst. — East  Grinstead.  —  The  "Players." — Tiie  "Last  Per- 
formance "..........     101 

CHAPTER    IX. 

FROM   PETWORTH  TO   MIDHURST. 

The  House  at  Petworth. — Some  Faces  to  be  remembered. — The 
Park  of  the  Percies. — Cottages  in  the  "Weald." — Lodsworth 
Church,  Past  and  Present. — An  important  Citizen  of  Lods- 
worth.— An  old  Farm. — The  Chestnut  Gatherers. — Cowdray 
Park  and  Ruins. — A  Page  of  Family  Romance. — Midhurst       .     113 

CHAPTER    X. 

FROM  MIDHURST   TO   HASLEMERE   AND   GODALMING. 

The  Road  to  Haslemere. — A  Town  half-spoiled.  —  "Mine  Ease  in 
Mine  Inn." — Blackdown. — A  Poet's  Home. — The  "  Old  Gentle- 
man," — Over  Hindhead. — Gibbet  Hill  and  the  Murdered 
Sailor. — The  Devil's  Punch  Bowl. — Only  a  "Turnpike  Road." 
— The  "Green  Lanes"  of  England. — Thursley  Church  and 
Common. — Last  Stage  to  Godalming        .         .         .         ,         .126 

CHAPTER    XI. 

DORKING  AND   ITS  NEIGHBOURHOOD. 

A  Good  Old  Surrey  Town. — The  "Marquis  of  Granby "  and  old 
Weller.— The  Dorking  of  To-day  and  a  Hundred  Years  Ago. — 


xii  Contents. 


Dorking  Fowls. — The  Scenei^  in  the  vicinity. —  "  Mag's  Well." 
—  A  Quiet  lload  up  Box  Hill. — Brockham  and  Bctchwoi-th. — 
The  Holm  wood. — Walton  Heath. — The  Mickleham  Downs.— 
Pi.xholm  and  Milton  Lanes. — Ranmore  Common  and  Church. — 
Over  the  Common  by  Moonlight. — Pickett's  Hole. — Wotton 
Church. — "  Land  Hunger." — Bury  Hill  and  the  "  Nower  "      .     Vol 

CHAPTER    XII. 

TO  LEITII  HILL  BY  AVOTTON. 

Two  Hundred  Miles  of  Old  England.— The  Road  to  take.— A  Colony 
of  Sand  ]\Iartins. — The  "  Rookery." — Wotton  and  John  Evelyn. 
— The  Healing  Virtues  of  Trees. — How  to  "Corroborate"  the 
Stomach  and  make  "  Hair  spring  on  Bald  Heads." — A  Carefully 
Guarded  House. — Friday  Street. — The  Old  Sawyer. — "  Age  is 
Unnecessary." — Through  the  Pines  to  Leith  Hill. — An  Excur- 
sion for  a  Londoner. — Abinger  Hatch.  —  The  "British  Grum- 
bler."— Farming  in  Colorado  ......     157 


CHAPTER    XIII. 

FROM  DORKING  TO  LEATHERHEAD. 

A  Roundabout  Journey. — Over  the  Hills  to  Ranmore. — Tlie  Twin 
Trees. — Lost  in  the  Woods. — Polesden. — Box  Hill  in  a  New 
Aspect. — High  Barn.— Sentenced  to  Death. — The  "Grand 
Emporium  "  of  Effingham.  — A  Much  Restored  Church.  — Little 
Bookham. — The  Church  and  the  old  Yew. — Acro.ss  the  Fields  to 
Great  Bookham. — The  Crown  Inn. — Great  Bookham  Church 
and  its  Monuments. —On  the  Old  Portsmouth  Road. — Leather- 
head    171 

CHAPTER    XIV. 

TO  GUILDFORD  OVER  THE  HILLS. 

The  Merits  and  Defects  of  this  Walk. — A  Long  Green  Lane. — The 
Beech  Wood. — A  Hard  Road  to  find. — Misleading  Finger  Posts, 
— A  Lonely  Path. — Due  West  through  a  Wood. — Newland's 
Corner. — St.  Martha's  Chapel.  — The  Last  Difficulty.  — Guildfoid. 
—  Queer  Guests  at  the  Angel  .         .         .         .         .         .184 


Contents.  xiii 


CHAPTER    XV. 

FROM   CATERHAM  TO   GODSTONE. 

PAGE 

A  Country  of  Hill  and  Vale.— More  "Land-Grabbers." — A  Cluster  of 
Villages.— Warlingbam  and  Tatsfield.— Cross  Country  to  Titsey. 
— The  Poor  Church  and  its  Rich  Brother.  — The  ' '  Bull "  at  Limps- 
field. — A  Native  Critic  of  Manners  and  Customs. — Emigration. 
— "Everybody  well  off'  Abroad." — A  Little  Adventure  in  a 
Church.— TandriJge  Church. — The  old  Yew.— A  Station  Two 
Miles  from  Anywhere. — A  Dull  End  to  a  Day's  Joiirney   .  .      196 

CHAPTER    XVI. 

NORBURY  PARK,  ALBURY,  AND  THE  DEEPDENE. 

Three  Ancient  Estates.— The  Park  at  Norbury.  —  A  Bargain  in  1719. 
— Tlie  Druids'  Grove,  and  how  to  find  it. — A  Plague  of  Rabbits. 
—The  Yew  Grove.  — A  Giant  Beech.  — Butterflies  at  Midnight. 
— A  Desolate  Region.— Albury  Park.— The  "  Catholic  Apostolic 
Church."— Mr.  Drummond's  "  Cathedi-aL "—Apostolic  "Pre- 
cepts."—The  Gardens  at  Albury.— The  finest  Yew  Hedge  in 
England. — Through  Shere  to  GomshalL— The  Deepdene  and  its 
Glories. — The  House  and  its  Art  Treasures. — A  Retreat  for  a 
Scholar. — The  Dene  and  the  Beech  Avenue. — Chart  Park  and 
its  Trees      .         .         .         .         .    "     .         .         .         .         ,     209 

CHAPTER    XVn. 

REIGATE,    GATTON   PARK,    AND   THE   PILGRIM'S   WAl^ 

Some  Points  of  Difference  between  Reigate  and  Dor-king. — Drainage 
and  Comfort. — Reigate  Park. — Gatton  and  the  "Marble  Hall." 
— The  Two  Members  of  Parliament. — Merstham.  — On  the 
Track  of  the  Canterbury  Pilgrims.— A  Scramble  among  the  Yew 
Trees. — Walton  Heath.— The  Yews  near  Box  Hill    .         .         .     225 

CHAPTER    XVin. 

REDHILL   TO   CROWHURST. 

A  Tangle  of  Railroads.— Nutfield  and  its  old  Posting  Inn. — An 
awful  Warning  to  Bachelors. — Bletchingley. — A  Queer  Story  of 
a  Brass. —The  "Vile  Rotten  Borough."— Godstone  and  its 
Green. — Deep  in  the  Clay.— The  Yew  Tree  of  Sun-ey.- Tlie 
"  floated  Grange." — The  Road  to  Godstone  Station  .         ,     236 


xiv  Contents, 


CHAPTER    XIX. 

EWHURST,    ALBUllY,   AND  CIIILWORTII. 

FAOE 

The  Wild  Commons  and  Heaths  of  Surrey. — A  Word  of  Warning. — 
Sutton,  Felday,  Joldwyns. — The  "  Lucky  "  Lcveson-Gowcrs. — 
Holmbury  Hill. — The  Water  Carrier. — A  Stonebreaker's  Recol- 
lections.— How  Mr.  Hull  was  lluried. — Old  Roads  and  New. — 
Ewhurst  Cliurch  and  its  Critic. — An  Knglish  Sleeiiy-Hollow. — 
Moorland  and  Solitary  Roads. — Alljury  and  Chil worth. — Cob- 
bett's  Curse 218 


CHAPTER    XX. 

FROM  EDENBRIDGE  TO   PENSHURST. 

A  Preliminary  Caution. — Edenbridge  and  Hever. — The  Castle  and 
Church. — Chiddingstone  and  its  Timber  Cottages. — The  Road 
to  Penshurst.  —  A  Bid  for  Cottage  Furniture.— Penshurst  Church. 
— The  Harvest  Thanksgiving. — Parson  DarkenoU. — Pen.shurst 
Place. — Lord  de  L'Isle's  Work  of  Restoration. — The  Baron's 
Hall. — Family  Portraits. — The  Broken  Mandolin. — The  Library. 
—  A  Stroll  in  the  Great  Park. — Sidney's  Oak. — The  Old  Beeches 
and  Yew 261 

CHAPTER    XXI. 

THE  WYE  FROM   ROSS  TO  CHEPSTOW- 

The  "Lion"  of  Ross. — The  Wye. — Goodrich  Castle. — Gilpin's 
"Analysis"  of  the  Wye. — From  Goodrich  to  Monmouth. — The 
"  Kj-min  "  and  Buckstone.  —  The  Bachelor  of  Stanton. — A  Re- 
turned Indian. — The  Railroad. — From  Monmouth  to  Chepstow. 
— Encroachments  on  Tintcrn. — The  Wyndclifl'e. — What  is  Good 
for  Rheumatism  ? — Our  Beautiful  Inns  ....     277 


LIST    OF    ILLUSTRATIONS. 

FROM    SKETCHES    BY   J.    W.    WHY.MPER,    AND    PH0T0GRAPU8. 


AMONO   THE   CHALK    DOAVNS — ST.   MAKTHA's   CHAPEL,    FKOM 

NEWLAN'd's   corner  .  .  .  {sec  page  191)   Fruntisjyiece 

PAGE 
AX   OLD  ENGLISH    FEUDAL   CASTLE — HURSTMONCEUX         .  .       .         55 

A   TUDOR   ENGLISH    MANSION — RUINS   OF    COWDRAY — MIDHUR8T  .       122 

THE    OLD    rORTSMOUTH    ROAD — HINDHEAD,     BORDERS    OF    HANTj 

AND    SURREY 133 

ENGLISH    PARK    SCENE — BETCHWORTH,    SURREY  .  .  .  .144 

AN    ENGLISH    COUNTRY   INN — "TIIE   "VVIUTE   HORSE,"   DORKING     .       140 

AN    ENGLISH    COUNTRY   CHURCH — AVOTTON,    SURREY      .  .  .       155 

ENGLISH   RIVER  SCENE— THE   RIVEU  WYE,    FROM    SYMOND's   YAT      278 


FIELD  PATHS  AND  CtEEEN  LANES. 


CHAPTER    I. 

WmCHELSEA   AND   EYE. 

Old  "Spithead  and  Portsmouth."— A  Wondrous  "Sea  Change."— 
St.  Thomas's  Church. — Old  and  New. — The  Friars. — History 
of  Winchelsea,  by  a  Native.— The  Koad  to  Camber  Castle  and 
Eye.— Sheep  Farming.— A  City  of  the  Past. — Eye  Church.- 
The  Eeflections  of  a  Sexton. — The  Butcher  and  the  Lamb. — 
The  "Mermaid."— Peacock's.— The  Plague. —Where  is  the 
"  Mermaid  ?  "—The  Dutch  Tiles  and  Lone  AVidow.— A  Field 
Walk  to  Hastings. — The  Hermit  of  the  Beach. 

There  are  two  hills  facing  each  other  in  the  south- 
eastern corner  of  Sussex,  with  three  miles  of  marsh 
land  between  them.  On  the  one  stands  Winchelsea, 
on  the  other,  Eye.  Both  have  been  maritime  towns 
of  great  importance,  the  "  Spithead  and  Portsmouth 
of  their  day,"  as  someone  has  said  ;  but  when  the  sea 
deserts  a  maritime  town,  and  sulkily  withdraws  to  a 
distance  of  two  or  three  miles,  what  is  to  become  of 
it  1  Six  hundred  years  ago  Winchelsea  could  boast 
of  a  very  large  commerce,  but  at  that  time  it  stood 
three  miles  away  from  the  present  town,  which  is 
comparatively  modern,  although  it  was  founded  in  the 


2  Field  Paths  and  Great  Lanes.        ch.  i. 

time  of  Edward  the  First.  Doubly  fatal  has  old  ocean 
been  to  AViuchelsea,  completely  destroying  the  first 
town  by  its  untimely  encroachments,  and  then  ruin- 
ing the  new  one  by  its  equally  untimely  retreat.  But 
besides  the  raging  of  the  sea,  the  inhabitants  of  these 
parts  were  constantly  harried  by  the  French,  who  came 
upon  them  at  all  sorts  of  unexpected  times,  slaughter- 
ing their  men,  plundering  them  of  their  provisions, 
and,  what  was  much  worse  than  all,  carrying  off  their 
"  beautiful  women,"  So  quiet  and  deserted  is  the 
place  now  that  it  is  difficult  to  imagine  it  the  scene 
of  wild  excitement  and  daring  deeds.  The  old  church 
and  the  court-hall,  the  gates,  the  ruins  of  the  Lady 
Chapel  in  the  "  Friars,"  a  few  old  houses  here  and 
there,  are  all  that  remain  to  remind  the  visitor  of  the 
glories  of  Winchelsea.  The  great  John  Wesley  well 
called  it  a  "poor  skeleton."  One  feels,  indeed,  on 
entering  it  almost  as  if  one  were  wandering  about  in 
another  age  amid  the  ruins  of  another  world. 

All  that  is  now  to  be  seen  of  the  old  church  of  St. 
Thomas  is  the  chancel,  but  that  is  spacious  and  beau- 
tiful, far  finer  even  as  a  fragment  than  many  a  com- 
plete cliurch  which  is  run  up  at  contract  price  in  the 
present  days.  Some  of  the  monuments  are  magnifi- 
cent, and  contrast  strangely  with  the  modern  slabs, 
mere  dabs  of  mai'ble,  which  have  been  stuck  upon  the 
walls.  The  old  Alards  under  the  exquisitely  carved 
canopies  must  wonder  what  race  of  men  have  now  got 
hold  of  England,  and  why  they  commemorate  each 
other  with  flat  pieces  of  stone  carved   into  uncouth 


CH.  I. 


VVinchelsea  and  Rye. 


shapes  ?  The  ivy  grows  through  the  roof  here  and  there, 
and  time  has  levelled  nave  and  aisles  to  the  dust.  Yet 
enough  still  stands  to  shew  what  a  grand  old  chui-ch 
it  must  have  been  when  the  mothers  and  daughters  of 
the  town  went  to  bed  in  fear  and  trembling  lest  their 
enemies,  the  French,  should  be  at  the  gates. 

The  "  Friars "  stands  a  little  way  back  from  the 
roadside,  and  the  ruins  (which  the  stranger  maj?  see 
any  Monda}^)  are  in  the  garden — a  very  pretty  garden, 
with  fine  large  ash-trees  in  it,  and  good  sycamores,  and 
a  Portugal  laurel  which  must  be  thirty  feet  in  height. 
A  monastery  once  stood  here,  and  the  shell  of  the 
choir  of  the  chapel  dedicated  to  the  Virgin  Mary 
still  lies  embosomed  among  the  trees.  On  my  way 
from  this  pleasant  spot  to  the  Strand  gate,  I  learned 
the  history  of  Winchelsea  from  an  old  man  with  whom 
I  had  a  long  talk.  "  When  this  town  was  in  its 
prosperity,"  he  said,  "  the  sea  used  to  wash  right  up 
to  this  'ere  precipice,  and  there  was  once  a  town  over 
theer  (pointing  to  the  eastward),  but  the  sea  came 
and  took  it  away.  History  do  tell  as  a  high  tide 
came  up  upon  the  liehinoh  (equinox),  and  what  could 
stand  against  that  ?  Now  sir,  supposin'  as  another 
high  tide  came  in  upon  the  hekinok,  the  sea  might 
take  its  own  land  again,  and  mebbe  our  harbour 
could  be  used.  Fairlight  cliff  acts  as  a  breakwater 
to  us,  but  the  sea  is  washing  it  away  very  fast.  It 
costes  a  good  sight  of  money  to  keep  the  sea  off  these 
lands  now,  and  I  have  heern  say  that  the  House  of 
Commons  wants   to  let  the   sea  take  back   its  lands 


4  Field  Paths  and  Green  Lanes.        ch.  i. 

rather  than  pay  so  much  to  keep  her  out."  Doubtless 
this  old  man  is  still  standing  by  the  roadside,  waiting 
patiently  for  the  sea  to  come  back  to  Winchelsea. 

You  pass  beneath  the  Strand  gate,  near  which 
Edward  the  First  nearly  lost  his  life  through  his  horse 
shying  at  a  windmill,  and  pursue  the  road  to  the  right, 
from  which  presently  a  fine  view  is  to  be  had  of 
the  old  town,  and  of  Fairlight  downs  and  church 
far  beyond.  This  road  to  tlie  right,  not  ci'ossing 
the  bridge,  is  the  only  way  to  get  to  Camber  Castle — 
one  of  the  castles  which  Henry  the  Eighth  built  to 
defend  the  coast.  "  There  is  but  little  of  interest  now," 
sa3^s  a  local  historian,  "  in  these  crumbling  remains," 
and  yet,  being  here,  one  is  reluctant  to  pass  them  by 
unvisited.  It  is  necessary  to  keep  much  to  the  right, 
and  pass  an  old  farm  before  striking  off  towards  the 
grey  and  frowning  old  mass  of  masonry,  for  the 
"  waterings "  are  wide  and  numerous,  and  it  is  very 
easy  to  lose  a  good  deal  of  time  and  trouble  on  these 
marshes.  The  old  men  in  1024  remembered  the  time 
when  "  400  tall  ships  of  all  nations "  had  been  seen 
anchored  in  the  Camber,  "  where  now  sheep  and 
cattle  feed."  Countless  sheep  were  grazing  when  I 
was  there,  and  it  was  the  lambing  season,  and  some 
of  the  new-comers  into  the  world  looked  misei'able 
enough,  shivering  under  a  bleak  east  wind.  A  hundred 
or  more  had  crept  under  the  lee  of  the  old  castle, 
and  a  dead  sheep  lay  not  far  off.  Sometimes  as  many 
as  ten  dead  a  day  are  found  by  the  "  lookers "  on 
these  wide  marshes. 


Winchelsea  and  Rye. 


All  in  ruins  as  the  castle  is,  I  found  it  far  from 
uninteresting — the  massive  windows,  the  strong  central 
tower,  a  keep  inside,  the  dark  passages  leading  under- 
ground, even  the  wallflowers  growing  out  of  the  crevices, 
all  had  a  certain  charm  in  my  eyes.  Many  of  the  lower 
blocks  of  stone  on  the  sea  side  are  quite  fresh  and  good, 
and  the  stones  which  are  partly  gone  look  as  if  they 
had  been  violently  wrenched  out.  The  pickaxe  and 
the  crowbar  have  done  more  to  dismantle  the  castle 
than  time  and  weather,  although  during  the  winter 
tremendous  gales  must  sweep  from  the  sea  across  these 
marshes,  and  strike  full  upon  the  old  walls. 

From  the  castle  we  go  towards  Hye,  with  its  red- 
tiled  roofs  running  down  the  hill,  and  its  noble  old 
church  standing  guard  over  them.  The  marsh  is  much 
intersected  with  water-courses,  so  that  it  is  difficult  to 
find  one's  way  across  them.  Strike  off  from  the  castle 
in  a  north-easterly  direction,  and  you  will  see  a  little 
fence  or  gate,  by  the  side  of  a  ditch.  Get  over  that, 
and  keep  on  the  embankment  beyond,  and  this  will 
lead  to  the  swing  bridge  at  the  entrance  to  Rye.  The 
sti'anger  is  at  first  rather  surprised  to  see  some  signs  of 
activity  in  this  town,  a  town  of  Aveird  aspect,  like  to 
that  of  the  "bound  of  Lyonesse: —  " 

"  A  land  of  old  upheaven  from  the  abyss 
By  fire,  to  sink  into  the  abyss  again  ; 
Where  fragments  of  forgotten  peoples  dwelt, 
And  the  long  mountains  ended  in  a  coast 
Of  ever  shifting  sand,  and  far  away 
The  phantom  circle  of  a  moaning  sea. " 

One  walks  the  streets  almost  in  a  dream — mediaeval 


6  Field  Paths  and  Green  Lanes.        ch.  i. 


streets,  roui)d  which  Arthuriim  or  other  legends  might 
cluster,  but  with  difficulty  to  be  thought  of  as  an  abode 
of  the  men  of  1877.  But  the  ancient  harbour  is  still 
of  use,  and  boat-building  goes  on,  and  fishermen  ply 
their  calling,  and  the  tempest-tossed  mariner  is  occa- 
sionally driven  here  for  shelter.  Plague,  fire,  famine, 
foreign  foes,  all  have  ravaged  this  wonderful  relic  of 
ancient  England,  and  it  is  exactly  five  hundred  years 
ago  (in  1377)  that  the  French  came  upon  it,  and  put 
many  of  its  inhabitants  to  the  sword.  We  breathe  the 
very  air  of  the  past  in  those  antique  streets.  They 
ramble  deviously  u])  and  down,  hither  and  thither, 
roughly  paved,  with  many  an  old  gabled  house  here  and 
there,  and  strange  ruins,  and  mouldering  gates  and 
towers.  The  people  about  the  streets  seem  to  be  an 
anachronism  in  their  modern  dress.  Nothing  more 
recent  than  the  cavalier's  cloak  and  hat  and  ruffles 
should  be  seen  at  Rye. 

While  wandering  about  the  churchyard,  I  saw  an  old 
man  digging  round  a  few  shrubs  and  phuits.  His  face 
was  in  harmony  with  the  scene,  so  covered  with  wrinkles 
that  it  was  (piite  a  masterpiece  of  Time's  handiwork. 
I  asked  him  where  I  should  find  the  keys  of  the  church, 
and  he  said  in  his  pocket.  There  could  not  be  a  more 
convenient  place. 

"That  is  an  old  house,"  said  I,  pointing  to  the 
I'emains  of  the  Carmelite  chapel  on  the  south  of  the 
churchyard. 

"It  was  built  five  hundred  years  ago,"  replied  the 
sexton,  "and  that  was  before  /  was  built." 


CU.  I. 


Winchdsca  ajici  Rye. 


"Yes,"  I  saiJ,  "jou  must  not  try  to  persuade  me  that 
you  are  much  more  than  a  hundred  and  fifty  or  so.  I 
see  your  graveyard  is  nearly  full — you  will  not  be  able 
to  find  room  for  many  more." 

"Oh,  they've  a-done  here  sometime;  we  ha'  a 
cemetery  up  yonder — a  tip-top  place."  "Tip-top"  was 
decidedly  a  modern  phrase,  and  I  tried  to  imagine 
what  a  tip-top  cemetery  could  be  like.  "Ay,  there  be 
a  many  changes  in  Rye,"  continued  the  sexton,  "since  I 
first  knew  it.  The  more  I  thinks  on  it,  whether  I  be 
a-lying  in  bed  or  a-walking  about,  the  more  I  be  sure 
as  everything  is  going  upside  down." 

The  last  thing  that  occurred  to  me  on  looking  round 
about  us  was  that  the  town  had  suffered  much  from 
the  hand  of  the  innovator.  Scarcely  a  tile  can  have 
been  put  upon  a  roof  for  a  hundred  years. 

"Can  you  tell  me,"  I  asked,  "where  is  the  Mermaid 
inn  of  which  I  read  in  my  book  ?" 

"I  never  heerd  of  it,"  said  he,  as  he  opened  the  door. 
"But  here's  a  church  for  you — what  do  you  think  of 
that?" 

I  thought  it  was  the  largest  church  in  a  small  place 
I  had  ever  seen — a  church,  moreover,  full  of  beauties  in 
arches,  and  mouldings,  and  windows,  though  much 
mutilated  by  time  and  rough  usage.  The  woodwork 
in  various  places  is  evidently  of  great  antiquity,  and 
one  fine  screen  particularly  may  be  of  almost  any  age, 
and  seems  to  be  fast  mouldering  away. 

"The  church  is  eight  hundred  years  old,"  quoth  the 
sexton,  "and  ikat  was  before  I  was  built."   He  chuckled 


8  Field  Paths  and  Green  Lanes.        en.  r. 

andlaughoel  at  his  joke  till  he  shook  all  over.  Presently 
we  stood  over  a  slab  to  the  memory  of  a  Mr.  Lamb  who 
Avas  slain  by  a  "sanguinary  butcher." 

"That  was  a  queer  thing,  sir, — have  you  catched 
that  in  your  book  yet  ?  A  good  many  comes  liere  to 
be  a  eye-witness  to  this,  because  they  see  it  in  the  book 
and  don't  believe  it.  When  the  butcher  was  tried,  he 
said  he  didn't  mean  to  do  it — howsomever,  they  didn't 
give  him  a  chance  to  stab  any  more.  They  gibbeted 
him  !  When  the  French  reigned  here,  they  took  up  all 
the  brasses  out  of  this  church,  and  in  the  wall  you  can 
see  where  their  cannon  shot  did  hit.  The  French  have 
reigned  here  several  times,  but  not  since  I  was  built." 

"  It  is  a  pity  you  were  not  built  before,  for  then  you 
could  have  told  us  all  about  it  ;  but  now  I  want  you  to 
tell  me  what  are  the'  changes  in  Rye  which  make  you 
so  sad." 

"  Why,  it's  all  changed — all  topsy-turvy.  They 
want  to  make  this  church  Roman  Catholic." 

"  Who  does  ? " 

"  Them  as  has  got  the  money,"  said  the  old  man 
mysteriously.  "  I  never  see  the  rector  to  speak  to 
him  ;  or  I  would  tell  him,  '  why  not  make  half  the 
church  Protestant,  and  half  lioman  Catholic  for  them 
as  likes  it  ? '     It's  big  enough  for  all." 

"  Well,"  said  I,  as  he  let  me  out,  after  I  had 
sufficiently  admired  the  grand  old  church,  and  the  big 
pendulum  swinging  inside,  and  the  heavy  weights  of 
the  clock,  "  it  is  a  wonderful  church,  and  I  hope  you 
will  be  showing  it  for  fifty  years  to  come." 


Winchelsea  and  Rye. 


A  woman  who  was  passing  by  laughed  ;  at  this 
levity  the  worthy  sexton's  youthful  vanity  was  fired. 

"  You  may  laugh,"  he  cried  to  her,  "  but  I  shall  be 
worth  as  much  as  you  are  then  at  any  rate." 

"  How  old  are  you,"  I  asked, 

"Nigh  upon  eighty." 

"A  mere  boy,"  said  I  "you  will  see  many  more 
wonderful  changes  in  Rye  yet." 

"  My  Master  takes  care  of  me,"  said  the  old  man, 
touching  his  hat. 

The  George  hotel  stands  opposite  Peacock's  school, 
which  was  founded  in  1636,  and  to  which  Mr.  Thackeray 
sent  his  "Denis  Duval."  At  the  George  I  slept  that 
night,  and  dreamt  that  the  plague  had  again  broken 
out,  and  that  the  mark  of  a  cross  had  been  chalked 
upon  the  door,  and  that  men  were  going  with  a  dead 
cart  about  the  streets,  crying  "bring  out  your  dead." 
I  had  been  reading  in  the  evening  how  that  in  1563, 
no  fewer  than  562  men  and  women  were  smitten  down 
with  this  dire  disease  in  the  then  ancient  town.  But 
the  next  morning  all  was  bright  and  fresh,  and  a  com- 
mercial traveller's  big  parcels  in  the  passage  reminded 
me  that  I  was  living  in  an  improved  and  enlightened 
age.  Little  boys  soon  made  their  appearance  at  the 
door  of  "  Peacock's,"  and  the  enterprising  tradesmen 
of  Eye  began  to  take  down  their  shutters.  The  busy 
day  had  begun, 

"  I  hear   there  is  to  be  a  war,  sir,"   said   the  old 

landlord. 

"  Indeed — between  whom  ?  " 
2 


lo  Field  Paths  ajid  Green  Lanes.        en.  i. 

r 

"  I  can't  rightly  say,  sir  ;  I  think  it  was  the  French." 
Perhaps  even  now  a  true  Hye  man  thinks  this  little 

world  is  peopled  by  only  two  nations,  the  English  and 

the  French. 

The  Mermaid — still  I  looked  about  for  the  Mermaid 

inn.     I  roamed  up  and  down  Mermaid  Street,  over  the 

rough  cobble  stones,  loth  to  give  up  the  search. 

" at  the  helm 


A  seeming  mermaid  steers." 

At  last  I  met  with  an  ancient  man,  who  looked  as 
if  with  a  little  effort  of  memory  he  might  recall  the 
Mermaid,  or  perhaps  be  the  Merman  who  married  her, 

"  Ah,  sir,"  said  he,  with  a  sigh,  "  the  inn  has  long 
been  closed.  How  curious  you  should  ask  for  it.  Gone 
ever  so  long  ago,  sir." 

More  changes ! — the  sexton  was  in  the  right  of  it 
after  all. 

"  But,"  said  he,  "  I  will  show  you  the  house  which 
was  the  inn  ;  a  labouring  man  lives  in  it  now.  It 
goes  up  three  or  four  steps — there  it  is,  sir." 

I  knocked  at  the  door,  and  a  woman  opened  it — not 
old  for  a  wonder. 

"  Can  you  tell  me,"  I  asked,  "if  this  was  the  Mermaid 
inn  ( 

"  Yes,  but  now  we  lives  in,  it."  And  she,  so  far  as  I 
could  judge,  was  not  a  mermaid.  Presently,  she  offered 
to  show  me  the  old  carvings,  for  which  the  house  had 
a  certain  sort  of  celebrity,  and  I  followed  her  without 
fear  or  trembling  down  a  long  and  dark  passage,  and 


CH.  I.  Winchelsea  ajid  Rye.  1 1 

into  a  large  room,  where  the  broad  fireplace  was 
enclosed  in  a  framework  of  fine  carved  oak,  black 
with  age.  Tliere  were  carved  oak  panellings  near  it, 
and  probably  they  had  once  gone  round  the  entire 
room,  but  the  hand  of  the  spoiler  has  been  there. 

"Would  you  like  to  see  the  tiles  in  the  old  lady's 
room,"  asked  the  young  woman. 

"  I  should  like  it  much,"  said  I,  "  if  the  old  lady 
would  not  object." 

So  I  went  upstairs,  and  was  shown  into  a  room  large 
enough  to  hold  a  hundred  people.  There  was  only 
one  old  woman  in  it. 

"  I  am  a  poor  lone  widow,  sir,"  said  she,  "  and  have 
only  one  room." 

"  But  see  what  a  big  one  it  is,"  said  I,  by  way  of 
keeping  up  her  spirits,  "  you  couldn't  very  well  have 
two  of  this  size." 

"  Many  gentlefolks  come  here  to  see  these  tiles," 
said  she,  pointing  to  her  fireplace ;  and  indeed  they 
were  well  worth  seeing — fine  old  Dutch  tiles,  blue  and 
white,  going  all  round  the  chimney  and  hearth.  Each 
tile  was  the  subject  of  a  different  picture,  and  most  of 
the  pictures  represented  seafaring  scenes,  such  as  must 
have  been  constantly  before  the  eyes  of  the  dwellers  in 
Rye,  when  this  old  house  was  new.  I  stood  a  long 
time  studying  them,  and  meanwhile  the  occupant  of 
the  apartment  impressed  upon  me  that  she  was  old 
and  a  widow. 

Then  they  took  me  up  into  the  attics — large,  roomy 
apartments,  with  huge  oaken  timbers  running  across 


1 2  Field  Paths  and  Green  Lanes.        ch.  i. 

them ;  and  from  thence  into  so  many  rooms  and  closets 
and  queer  old  places  that  I  got  lost,  and  shonld  never 
have  found  my  way  out  without  a  guide.  The  old  house 
had  been  built  to  last  for  ever.  How  can  a  modern 
builder  go  into  such  a  house  as  this  without  being 
crushed  by  the  sense  that  he  is  a  wretched  impostor  ? 
Fit  to  build  ?     "No,  not  fit  to  live." 

As  I  came  out,  the  father  of  the  girl  appeared,  with 
a  woman  standing  behind  him,  and  immediately  the 
latter  began  to  make  signs  to  me.  At  this  I  was  much 
concerned,  not  being  used  to  such  attentions. 

"  Do  you  ever  see  any  ghosts  here,"  said  I. 

"  No,"  said  the  man,  "  but  they  told  us  the  place 
was  haunted  when  we  came  into  it.  The  only  ghosts 
we  has  now  are  the  gentlemen  of  the  Archa3ological 
Society,  and  some  of  'em  weigh  eighteen  stone.  But 
lor,  sir,  they  can  walk  over  our  attics  without  falling 
through — they  never  seem  a  bit  nervous.  They  know 
how  people  built  in  those  days," 

Meanwhile,  the  mysterious  person  in  the  background 
became  more  extravagant  in  her  signs  and  gestures, 
and  I  was  more  and  more  bewildered  at  her  addresses. 

The  father  cast  his  eye  over  his  shoulder  and  saw 
what  was  going  on.  "  Don't  mind  lier,  sir,"  said  ho, 
"  she  was  took  so  at  two  years  old,  and  now  she  is 
thirty-five,  and  cannot  dress  herself  She  is  what  we 
calls  a  himhecile." 

Poor  woman,  and  poor  father !  I  gave  them  each  a 
trifle,  not  forgetting  the  lone  widow,  and  left  the 
Mermaid  with  good  wishes  all  round. 


CH.  I.  Winchelsca  and  Rye.  1 3 

And  now  where  was  the  Yprds  tower  ?  How  was  one 
to  ask  for  it  ?  I  did  ask  repeatedly,  but  no  one  knew 
what  I  meant.  It  is  at  the  "  S.E.  angle  of  the  town," 
said  Murray,  and  thither  I  wended  my  way.  I  found  a 
very  old  tower,  with  a  very  ugly  brick  building  wedged 
into  one  side  of  it,  and  an  inscription  over  it  setting 
forth  that  it  was  a  soup-kitchen.  Never  was  a  greater 
barbarism  inflicted  upon  a  town  in  the  name  of  charity. 

"  What  do  you  call  that  tower/'  I  asked  of  a  fisher- 
man who  stood  near,  smoking  a  pipe. 

"  It  used  to  be  called  the  High  Press  tower,"  he 
replied,  "  but  now  we  generally  calls  it  the  jail." 

"  You  ought  not  to  want  a  jail  in  Rye  with  that 
beautiful  old  church  there." 

The  fisherman  showed  that  he  knew  a  great  deal 
about  the  church,  and  took  an  honest  pride  in  it,  and 
in  his  famous  old  town  of  Rye.  "  It  has  been  much 
neglected,"  said  he,  "  but  it's  improving  a  little  now. 
We  have  thirty  fishing-boats  go  out  from  here  now, 
and  catch  a  sight  of  fish." 

"  That  is  the  reason  they  told  me  at  the  George 
Hotel  that  I  could  not  have  any  for  dinner  last  night." 

"  Yes,  sir,  we  take  it  to  Hastings,  and  it  goes  to 
LoDdon." 

Even  this  old  town,  in  a  deserted  region,  cannot  be 
allowed  to  consume  the  few  fish  that  are  caught  off 
it.     The  great  monster  of  London  swallows  all. 

To  Pleyden  church,  half  a  mile  beyond  Rye,  is  a 
pleasant  walk,  and  far  and  wide  the  views  extend. 
But  soon  it  became  time  to  jog  along  on  the  main  journey 


14  Field  Paths  and  G^^ccn  Lanes.        ch.  i. 

of  the  day,  wliicli  was  to  walk  from  E,ye  to  Hastings, 
about  twelve  miles. 

For  the  turnpike  road  between  Rye  and  Winchel- 
sea  little  can  be  said  except  that  it  is  useful — pretty 
it  is  not.  I  got  over  it,  and  past  the  Friars  at  ^\^iii- 
chelsca,  and  far  on  towards  an  old  gate  at  a  distance 
from  the  town  towards  the  sea,  in  less  than  an  hour. 
My  object  was  to  walk  across  the  marsh  till  I  came  to 
the  cliffs,  and  then  mount  the  cliffs  and  so  to  Hastings. 
It  was  a  fine  breezy  day  ;  not  yet  ten  o'clock  ;  the  sea 
and  sky  blue  as  a  sapphire  ;  the  air  full  of  the  songs  of 
birds ;  the  whole  earth  and  ocean  covered  with  divinest 
beauty.  They  sing  of  "  Jerusalem  the  Golden  " — will 
it,  then,  be  fairer  than  this  cartli  which  we  know 
already,  and  which  seems  to  grow  more  beautiful  as 
the  time  draws  nearer  for  taking  leave  of  it  ? 

Through  that  old  gate  standing  far  away  from  the 
city  in  the  midst  of  green  fields,  the  road  winds  round, 
but  we  must  leave  it,  and  climb  over  a  gate  into  the 
marsh-lands.  An  embankment  is  visible  a  quarter  of 
a  mile  distant,  and  upon  that  I  had  been  told  it  was 
possible  to  work  one's  way  to  "  Cliff's  End."  The 
embankment  runs  by  the  side  of  a  canal,  half  over- 
grown with  rush  and  grass.  Not  far  beyond  is  the 
sea,  which  has  been  all  over  the  marsh  during  the 
past  winter,  especially  on  the  1st  of  January,  when  it 
seemed  very  much  disposed  to  claim  its  own  again. 
A  mile  or  more  along  the  embankment,  I  saw  that  it 
was  necessary  to  cross  the  canal  by  a  wooden  phink,  put 
there  by  way  of  a  bridge ;  and  still  keeping  by  the 


CH.  I.  Winchclsca  and  Rye.  1 5 

water,  I  came  out  at  last  still  closer  to  the  sea,  and  to 
the  right  a  fragment  of  an  old  mouldering  cliff,  and 
beyond  a  coastguard  station.  A  few  hundred  yards 
further  I  saw  a  thatched  hut,  and  a  man  standing  at 
the  door  of  it  with  a  black  duck  in  his  hand,  and  upon 
his  head  a  cap  of  skins,  such  as  I  had  seen  on  a  trapper 
of  the  West,  and  upon  that  famous  hunter.  Kit  Carson, 
whom  in  1865  I  met  in  the  wilds  of  Virginia. 

I  gazed  upon  this  old  man  with  great  curiosity ;  his 
hut  was  a  little  way  up  on  the  shingle,  but  close  to 
the  sea ;  and  there  he  stood  with  his  black  duck  and 
skin  cap. 

"  Is  your  name  Carson,"  said  I,  "  Kit  Carson  ? " 

"  It  is  not,  sir,"  replied  he  ;  "  it  is  Collins,  Thomas 
Collins." 

"  I  thought  you  were  a  mighty  hunter  of  America — 
but  he's  dead." 

"  Ameriky  ?  No,  sir,  I  have  never  been  there.  But 
I  have  heard  our  preachers  talk  of  it." 

"Do  you  live  here  alone  ?  " 

"  Quite  alone,  sir." 

"  And  may  I  ask  you  how  that  came  about  ?  " 

"  Well,  sir,  I  lived  at  Hastings,  and  was  out  of  work, 
and  so  one  day  I  took  down  a  shrimping  net  which  I 
happened  to  have,  and  I  says  to  my  wife,  I  may  as 
well  go  a-shrimping,  says  I,  as  do  nothing.  So  I  walked 
along  the  beach,  and  got  very  tired,  and  at  last  I  came 
to  the  ruins  of  a  hut.  I  found  out  that  it  belonged 
to  Mr.  Shadwell,  and  he  let  me  put  a  roof  on  it,  and 
just  as  I  begun  my  poor  wife  died.     But  I  came  to 


1 6  Field  Pal/is  and  Green  Lanes.        ch.  i. 

live  here  all  the  same,  and  have  lived  here  ever  since. 
I  hope,  sir,  to  go,  when  the  time  comes,  where  my  wife 
has  gone." 

I  said  nothing,  but  walked  in  with  the  old  man,  and 
sat  down.  The  walls  were  of  bare  brick,  except  that 
here  and  there  a  faded  photograph,  or  a  text  of 
Scripture,  was  hung  against  them.  The  shrimping  net 
and  another  net  or  two  hung  near  the  ceiling,  which 
was  merely  the  thatch  of  the  roof.  There  was  a  large 
chest  near  the  door ;  a  cottage  mahogany  bedstead  ; 
an  iron  saucepan ;  a  table  and  two  or  three  chairs ; 
finally,  a  few  books. 

"  You  are  a  perfect  Robinson  Crusoe,"  said  I ;  "no 
doubt  you  have  read  all  about  him." 

"  Oh  yes,  sir,  by  Daniel  De  Foe.  I  read  a  good  deal 
here.  Ever  since  last  November  I  have  never  been 
able  to  go  out  a-shrimping,  for  I  was  seized  in  the 
water  with  a  terrible  pain  in  my  head,  and  it  comes 
back  now,  and  besides  I  have  sciaticy  very  bad." 

"  And  how  do  you  live  ?  " 

"  My  daughters  help  me  a  little,  and  I  grow  a  few 
potatoes,  and  get  bread  at  the  coast-guard  station  ;  but 
I  never  fear.  If  we  try  to  do  what  is  I'ight,  sir,  there 
is  One  above  that  has  promised  never  to  desert  us. 
And  lie  has  not  deserted  me  yet — I  shall-  not  starve." 

"There  are  plenty  of  men,"  said  I,  "who  think 
themselves  very  wise,  and  believe  they  know  every- 
thing, who  would  call  you  an  ignorant  old  man  for 
talking  like  this.  But  I  think  you  are  wiser  than 
they  are,  and  you  look  to  me  a  good  deal  happier." 


CH.  I.  WincJiclsca  and  Rye.  1 7 

"  Yes,  sir ;  the  nights  are  very  long  in  winter,  and 
the  storms  are  very  violent,  but  I  am  happy  here. 
In  that  chest  that  you  are  sitting  on,  sir,  I  have  good 
clothes,  and  under  my  bed  there  is  a  box  of  linen, 
and  I  have  a  comfortable  bed  to  sleep  on,  and  owe  no 
man  a  penny." 

"Many  a  great  man  who  lives  in  a  mansion  and 
rides  in  a  carriage  would  be  glad  to  change  with  you," 
said  I. 

"  Perhaps  you  have  heard  of  Mus'er  Gladstone,"  he 
said. 

"I  have,  often." 

"  One  of  my  wife's  darters  lives  with  a  son  of  Mus'er 
Gladstone,  as  nurse.  They  think  a  good  deal  of  me,  my 
darters  do,  although  I  am  not  their  father,  for  my  poor 
wife  was  a  widow.  I  wish  that  I  could  lead  as  good 
a  life  as  she  did,  and  be  as  ready  to  go  when  the  time 
comes.     I  hope  that  I  shall  go  to  meet  her,  sir." 

I  promised  to  lend  Thomas  Collins  some  books,  and 
I  hope  that  if  any  reader  happens  to  be  passing  that 
way  he  will  take  him  an  ounce  of  tobacco,  for  he  likes 
to  smoke  a  little.  He  is  sixty-eight  years  of  age,  and 
lives  directly  under  the  very  last  of  the  cliffs,  just 
where  they  descend  into  the  marsh. 

It  is  a  steep  climb  up  the  cliff  from  Collins's  hut — 
an  ugly  path,  especially  in  wet  and  slippery  weather. 
My  head  fairly  reeled  before  I  reached  the  top,  but 
Collins  is  used  to  it,  and  is  even  obliged  to  carry  all  the 
water  he  needs  up  and  down  it ;  for  there  is  none  to  be 
had  nearer  than  a  mile  or  more  from  his  hut.     At  the 


1 8  Field  Paths  and  Grcoi  Lanes.        ch.  i. 

top  of  the  cliff  there  is  another  coastguard  station, 
and  from  thence  I  could  plainly  make  out  the  French 
coast — the  vessels  in  Calais  roads  were  as  distinct  as 
the  fishing  smacks  off  Hastings.  To  the  left  I  saw 
Dover  cliffs,  and  far  to  the  right  Beachy  Head,  with 
France  to  the  south-eastward.  Could  any  one  desire 
a  grander  sea-vicAV  ?  Then  the  path  wanders  a  little 
from  the  edge  of  the  cliff,  and  passes  through  acres  of 
gorse  in  full  bloom,  dazzling  the  eye  with  its  beautiful 
shade  of  yellow,  and  scenting  the  air  with  its  faint 
smell,  like  that  of  the  cocoa-nut.  Soon  we  come 
abreast  of  Fairlight  Church,  and  see  its  white  tomb- 
stones shining  in  the  sun ;  on  the  one  hand,  the 
"  resounding  "  sea,  flecked  with  vessels  bound  to  many 
a  port ;  on  the  other,  the  common  port  to  which  all 
our  barks  are  hastening ;  and  looking  at  both,  and 
thinking  how  soon  this  voyage  of  ours  is  over  after  all, 
one  cannot  help  hoping  and  believing  that  poor 
Thomas  Collins  down  below  there  on  the  beach  is  rio-ht 
in  his  simple  faith,  and  the  wise  men  of  the  present 
day,  and  the  scientific  men,  and  the  philosophers,  all 
wrong. 


CHAPTER    11. 

ROUND    ABOUT    HASTINGS. 

Sunshine  and  Storms. — A  Dark  New  Year's  Day. — The  Fishermen  of 
Hastings.— Getting  under  "Weigh. — To  Fairlight  by  the  Beach. 
— The  Churchyard. — The  Sexton's  Story. — Bexhill. — Modern 
Protestantism. — The  Two  Bricklayers. — Hove  and  Catsfield. 

On  an  afternoon  in  December  or  January  to  look 
out  of  one's  window  upon  a  blue  sea  and  sky,  two  or 
three  dozen  fishing  smacks  flitting  about  hither  and 
thither,  and  large  steamers  making  towards  home  after 
long  voyages — all  this  is  a  great  contrast  to  the  smoke 
and  fog  of  London,  or  to  the  damp  and  chilly  atmos- 
phere which  hangs  over  many  of  our  inland  towns, 
especially  after  rainy  weather.  During  the  winter  of 
1876-77  the  fall  of  rain  was  unusually  heavy,  yet  it 
was  seldom  wet  underfoot  at  St.  Leonard's  or  Hastings 
— the  esplanade  in  front  of  the  beach  was  always  dry 
enough,  as  soon  as  the  rain ;  ceased,  for  children  to  go 
there  without  fear  of  catching  cold.  There  was  as 
much  rain,  I  suppose,  as  at  other  places — but  never 
any  fog,  seldom  even  a  little  mist  at  early  morning. 
Even  in  the  most  cheerless  evenings  of  winter  the 
scene  is  not  without  its  charms — when  dark  masses  of 
clouds  are  rolling  in  from  seaward,  and  the  sombre 


20  Field  Paths  and  Green  Lanes.       en.  n. 

outline  of  Beachy  Head  is  still  faintly  visible,  and  the 
"  Sovereign "  light  Hashes  out  three  times  from  the 
gathering  gloom,  and  a  few  phantom-like  vessels  are 
sailing  away  into  the  darkness. 

It  must  be  admitted,  however,  that  scenes  of  a  very 
different  kind  are  occasionally  presented  at  Hastings, 
as  in  November  1875,  and  again  on  the  1st  of  January 
1877.  No  one  who  has  seen  the  place  in  summer  only 
can  imagine  in  what  a  formidable  shape  the  sea  of  even 
this  comparatively  sheltered  line  of  coast  can  present 
itself.  The  green  waves  break  upon  the  esplanade,  the 
houses  at  each  end  of  the  town  are  flooded,  the  sea-wall 
is  broken  up  as  if  it  were  made  of  paper.  On  New  Year's 
Day  last  the  storm  began  about  seven  in  the  morning 
— I  noticed  on  looking  out  of  the  window  that  some 
men  just  setting  to  work  in  the  road  could  scarcely 
stand  upright  before  the  furious  wind.  Before  twelve 
o'clock,  the  esplanade  all  along  the  town  was  cut  to 
pieces  by  the  waves,  the  large  slabs  at  the  edge  were 
flung  about  like  pebbles,  beach  houses  were  swept  off, 
and  the  pier-head  carried  away.  In  Robertson  Street 
a  river  had  formed,  along  which  boats  were  rowed  to 
the  rescue  of  persons  imprisoned  in  their  houses.  The 
row  of  dwellings  known  as  "Beach  Cottages"  had  all 
their  windows  and  doors  beaten  in,  and  the  furniture 
in  the  rooms  was  knocked  into  shapeless  masses  and 
flung  into  corners.  The  kitchens  and  basements  were 
comj^letely  filled  up  with  water  and  shingle,  and  all 
traces  of  the  ordinary  road  were  effaced.  Similar  havoc 
was  made  at  the  west  end  of  the  Marina — the  contents 


CH.  n.  Round  about  Hastings.  2 1 

of  the  rooms  were  literally  swept  into  the  back  yards, 
where  I  saw  the  furnitui-e  floating  about,  mixed  up 
with  books,  trinkets,  and  the  toys  of  the  poor  little 
children,  who  were  weeping  over  the  loss  of  their 
Christmas  presents. 

The  sea  has  frequently  made  dashes  of  this  kind  at 
Hastings,  and  never  failed  to  leave  some  trace  of  its 
awful  power.  In  1236,  according  to  the  county  history, 
the  old  church  of  St.  Clement  was  destroyed  ;  and  in 
1597,  while  the  pier  was  being  rebuilt,  "behold,  when 
men  were  most  secure,  and  thought  the  work  to  be 
perpetual,  appeared  the  mighty  force  of  God,  who,  with 
the  finger  of  his  hand,  at  one  great  and  exceeding  high 
spring-tide,  with  a  south-east  wind,  overthrew  this 
large  work  in  less  than  an  hour,  to  the  great  terror 
and  amazement  of  all  beholders."  So  runs  the  account 
in  the  books  of  the  Corporation,  and  it  is  to  be  feared 
that  in  future  years  similar  records  of  disaster  will  have 
to  be  chronicled  in  these  volumes.  For  St.  Leonard's, 
especially  at  the  west  end,  is  built  much  too  near  the 
sea — had  its  front  been  on  a  line  with  the  present 
assembly  rooms,  the  additional  elevation  gained  would 
liave  rendered  the  town  secure  even  from  the  highest 
tides. 

St.  Leonard's  may  be  the  fashionable  neighbourhood, 
but  Hastings  far  surpasses  it  in  picturesqueness.  Its 
ruined  castle,  and  the  fine  cliff  on  which  it  is  placed, 
form  a  noble  background  to  Robertson  Street.  Beyond 
the  fish-market,  there  is  a  quarter  inhabited  exclu- 
sively by  the  sailors,  and  few  visitoi's  ever  explore  it. 


2  2  Field  Paths  ajid  Green  Lanes.       en.  n. 

This  is  where  the  little  old-fashioned  public-houses  are 
to  be  found,  in  -which  the  fishermen  spend  all  the  time 
and  money  they  have  to  spare,  and  further  on  still 
towards  the  sea  are  their  cottages,  and  the  sheds  where 
their  nets  are  stored.  The  fishing  boats  here,  as  else- 
where on  our  coasts,  are  of  the  most  clumsy,  awkward, 
and  dangerous  design  that  the  mind  of  man  could  have 
conceived.  They  are  built  to  take  in  water  easily,  to 
hold  it  long,  to  roll  heavily  in  a  light  sea,  and  to  be  as 
nearly  as  possible  unmanageable.  No  improvement  can 
have  been  made  for  two  hundred  years.  To  see  one  of 
these  big,  hulking,  unwieldy  craft,  and  then  think  of 
the  American  fishing  boat,  wath  its  graceful  lines  and 
its  white  sails,  easily  managed  and  capable  of  great 
speed,  excites  one's  astonishment  afresh  at  the  obstinacy 
with  which  our  countrymen  cling  to  whatever  they  may 
have  been  in  the  habit  of  using,  no  matter  at  what  loss 
or  inconvenience.  It  takes  nearly  half-an-hour  to  launch 
one  of  these  Hastings  boats,  and  such  pulling  and  haul- 
ing as  then  go  on,  such  shouting,  cursing,  and  SAvearing, 
such  work  with  rollers,  chains,  and  ropes !  You  would 
think  the  whole  Royal  Navy  was  being  launched.  When 
the  lumbering  craft  is  afloat,  it  takes  at  least  a  quarter 
of  an  hour  more  to  get  any  sail  set — more  tugging  at 
ropes,  more  wild  rushing  to  and  fro,  more  strong  lan- 
guage flying  about  in  the  air.  The  sails  are  as  filthy  as 
if  they  had  been  stowed  away  in  a  coal-hole,  and  patched 
all  over,  and  are  not  worked  on  rings,  but  hauled  up 
bodily  inch  by  inch.  While  they  arc  being  set,  the 
ugly  old  tub  rolls  about  at  the  mercy  of  the  waves,  so 


CH.  n.  Round  about  Hastings.  23 

that  unless  wind  and  tide  are  both  very  favourable  it  is 
difficult  to  get  it  off  at  all.  At  last  it  waddles  away, 
with  its  dirty  rags  helping  it  along  at  the  rate  of  a  knot 
or  two  an  hour,  and  the  fishermen  who  are  left  behind 
stare  after  it  as  if  loth  to  part  with  it,  and  then  go  and 
refresh  themselves  after  their  exhausting  labours  at 
the  "  Fishermen's  Home."  Can  anybody  wonder  that 
when  a  great  storm  suddenly  beats  on  our  coasts,  so 
many  of  these  poor  fellows  go  down  in  their  wretched 
boats — boats  which  an  American  fisherman  would 
scarcely  condescend  to  load  with  mussels  or  clams  for 
manure  on  a  Long  Island  farm  ? 

"  There  is  a  little  silk  weaving  carried  on  at  Hastinars 
by  one  man,  but  no  other  manufacture."  So  says  an 
account  of  Hastings,  published  in  1786.  The  silk- 
weaving  trade  appears  to  have  declined  since  the  death 
of  the  only  person  who  practised  it,  and  now  the  town 
has  simply  its  fishing  trade  to  boast  of,  but  that  is  very 
consirlerable,  and  must  be  a  source  of  great  profit. 
There  are  a  few  old  houses  and  shops  here  and  there 
in  the  neighbourhood  of  High  Street,  and  the  churches 
of  St,  Clement's  and  All  Saints  are  worth  a  visit.  The 
visitor  may  find  sufficient  to  amuse  him  in  this  part  of 
the  town,  when  the  weather  is  too  bad  to  allow  of  a 
longer  excursion. 

When,  however,  he  is  ready  for  a  ramble,  he  cannot 
do  better  than  begin  by  going  past  the  fishmarket,  and 
the  houses  where  the  nets  are  stored,  and  make  his 
way  to  Fairlight  by  the  beach.  The  road  is  rough, 
and  should  not  be  attempted  by  anyone  who  has  reason 


24  Field  Paths  and  Grccii  Lanes.       en.  n. 

to  say,  with  Jack  Falstaff,  "  eight  yards  of  uneven  ground 
is  three  score  and  ten  miles  afoot  Avith  me."  The  rocks 
stretch  out  far  into  the  sea,  so  that  there  is  no  getting 
round  them,  even  at  tlic  lowest  tide,  and  between  them 
and  the  cliffs  there  is  a  tough  stretch  of  shingly  beach 
covered  with  large  stones  and  huge  boulders.  Still,  to 
one  who  does  not  mind  such  trifles  as  these,  the  walk 
will  be  found  worth  taking,  for  the  cliffs  are  in  many 
places  lofty  and  grand,  and  the  look-out  seaward  is 
perpetually  changing.  "  The  roaring  ocean  and  the 
beetling  crags,"  says  the  author  of  Eothen,  "owe  some- 
thing of  their  sublimity  to  this, — that  if  they  be  tempted, 
they  can  take  the  warm  life  of  a  man."  It  is  necessary 
to  bear  in  mind  the  warning  contained  in  these  words, 
and  watch  well  the  tide. 

The  first  glen  you  come  to,  with  a  few  cottages  above, 
is  Ecclesbourne,  and  you  have  to  round  the  point  beyond 
that  before  reaching  Fairlight.  The  bank  comes  down 
tolerably  low  towards  the  beach,  with  tlie  grass  to  the 
very  edge  of  it,  and  when  you  see  tliis  green  place,  then 
and  there  it  will  be  well  to  turn  in  to  the  glen.  There 
is  another  path  further  up  the  beach,  but  this  is  the 
best,  for  it  winds  through  a  beautiful  ravine,  bedecked 
with  wild  flowers  in  the  spring,  and  beautifully  wooded 
from  beginnins:  to  end.  Nowhere  will  a  search  for  the 
first  primrose  be  more  surely  rewarded  than  here,  and 
I  have  seen  daisies  on  the  grass  all  through  the  winter 
months.  After  the  path  has  wound  up  and  down  for  some 
little  distance,  you  come  to  a  brook  with  a  plank  thrown 
across  it  by  w^ay  of  a  bridge,  and  on  the  other  side 


CH.  II.  Roimd  about  Hastings.  25 

there  is  a  tree.  If  you  now  follow  the  ravine  straight 
through,  it  will  lead  to  a  road  by  which  you  may 
return  to  Hastings,  but  if  you  want  to  see  Lovers'  Seat, 
and  gain  some  magnificent  marine  views,  the  proper 
way  is  to  turn  to  the  right  by  a  little  thatched  hut, 
and  climb  up  the  hill.  It  is  a  steep  climb,  especially 
as  you  approach  the  top,  but  at  every  step  you  are 
rewarded  by  wide  and  bold  views  of  the  rugged  cliifs, 
and  far  away  over  the  sea.  The  Lovers'  Seat  is  a  well- 
known  spot — a  ledge  of  rock  under  the  brow  of  the 
cliff,  much  sought  after  by  young  men  and  women  out 
for  a  holiday,  and  therefore  not  to  be  recommended  to 
the  true  pedestrian.  From  the  green  sward  at  the 
top  of  the  cliff  just  as  fine  a  view  is  to  be  obtained, 
and  there  you  do  not  meet  so  many  enthusiastic 
persons  with  their  arms  round  each  other's  waists. 

There  is  now  a  path  through  and  across  the  fields  in 
a  northerly  direction  to  Fairlight  Church,  which  can  be 
distinctly  seen  from  the  cliff.  This  path  (keeping  on  the 
edge  of  the  fields,  past  a  cottage)  will  bring  you  to  a  gate 
leading  into  the  main  road,  not  far  from  the  church. 
After  a  spell  of  rain,  this  will  be  found  a  wet  and 
slippery  walk,  for  there  is  no  regular  path,  and  the 
fields  are  ploughed  close  up  to  the  hedges,  and  every 
step  you  take  is  followed  by  that  "  suck,  suck,"  which 
is  so  unpleasant  a  sound  to  hear,  especially  if  your  boots 
are  not  water-tight.  After  gaining  the  road,  we  lose 
sight  of  the  sea  for  a  time,  and  a  scene  of  another  kind 
opens  up  northward — a  long  stretch  of  undulating 
meadows  and  woodland,  bounded  by  the  Southdowns, 


26  Field  Paths  and  Green  Lanes.       ch.  n. 

a  welcome  change  from  the  sea  views  which  the  walk 
has  thus  far  affodred.  There  is  a  large  house  just 
below,  and  many  farms  and  homesteads  are  pleasantly 
scattered  between  us  and  yonder  deep  line  of  hills. 
When  we  reach  the  churchyard  there  is  the  sea  again, 
with  the  marshes  stretching  far  into  the  distance,  until 
they  seem  to  melt  away  in  the  cliffs  of  Dover.  It  is 
easy  to  pick  out  Winchelsca  and  Rye  from  this  wide 
level,  and  even  to  discern  the  lighthouse  at  Dungeness, 
near  which  the  poor  souls  on  board  the  Korthfleet  were 
suddenly  sent  to  their  last  account. 

A  beautifully  situated  churchyard  is  this  of  Fair- 
light,  and  people  have  come  from  far  and  near,  looking 
forward  from  "  this  bank  and  shoal  of  time  "  to  choose  a 
spot  therein  for  their  long  home.  Although  a  somewhat 
out-of-the-way  country  churchyard,  there  are  many  costly 
monuments  in  it,  and  several  of  them  can  boast  of  true 
beauty  in  their  design.  I  found  the  old  sexton  at  the 
second  cottage  beyond  the  church — a  very  old  man 
wearing  one  of  those  frocks  with  much  needlework  at 
the  top,  back  and  front^  which  are  now  suggestive  of 
bye-gone  days.  He  was  of  a  singularly  mild  and  gentle 
aspect,  and  although  his  face  was  much  wrinkled,  it  was 
almost  good-looking  by  reason  of  his  clear  grey  eye  and 
honest  smile.  If  this  is  not  a  good  and  worthy  man,  one 
thinks  in  looking  at  him,  then  for  once  has  Nature  hung 
out  the  wrong  sign  upon  her  work,  which  she  rarely 
does. 

"You  have  some  grand  monuments  here,"  said  I, 
when  we  had  got  into  the  churchyard. 


CH.  II.  Round  about  Hastings.  2  7 

"  Yes,  sir,  there  are  many  ricli  folks  have  been  brought 
here,  and  we  were  obliged  to  take  that  piece  into  the 
churchyard  "  (pointing  to  the  east  side  of  the  ground). 
"  Our  churcli  was  rebuilt  some  years  ago,  but  there  be 
a  many  old  graves  in  it.  There  is  a  stone  here  which 
they  do  say  is  two  hundred  years  old." 

"  And  so  strangers  come  to  you  as  well  as  your  own 
people  ? "    . 

"  Oh,  yes.  You  see  that  white  marble  cross  ?  Well, 
that,  and  the  two  graves  next  to  it,  were  chosen  by  a 
gentleman  from  India,  as  you  see  his  name  writ  up,  and 
he  had  his  brother  brought  here  after  he  had  been 
buried  a  many  years  in  London.  Then  he  had  some 
others  of  his  family  brought  here  too.  And  now  you 
see,  sir,  how  things  go  in  this  world.  This  gentleman 
was  dressing  himself  one  morning,  quite  well  as  you 
might  be,  and  five  minutes  after  he  was  dead.  And 
there  he  is. 

"  Oh,  yes,  we've  had  a  sight  of  people  buried  here, 
and  money  spent  on  the  graves.  Thousands  of  bricks 
have  been  put  in  the  vaults.  Some  people  like  to  do 
that,  and  it  makes  work,  that's  all.  You  see  that  grave 
over  yonder,  sir  %  The  lady  as  is  there  was  buried 
fourteen  year,  and  when  we  opened  it  to  'put  the  gentle- 
man ill,  the  lid  and  handles  of  the  coffin  were  as  bright 
as  they  were  on  the  day  they  were  made.  It  was  a 
brick  grave,  and  better  nor  any  vault,  for  we  are  very 
dry  up  here.     It's  the  wet  as  breaks  folks  up,  sir. 

"  A  year  and  a  half  ago  I  buried  my  poor  missis  over 
there  "  (pointing  to  the  south-west  corner  of  the  church- 


28  Field  Paths  and  Grccu  Lanes. 


yard).  "  I  have  felt  lonesome  like  ever  since,  althousrh 
my  daughter  came  to  me  after  her  mother  died." 

We  were  standing  within  the  porch  of  the  church,  the 
old  man  bareheaded,  and  there  was  that  in  his  face  and 
words  which  made  one  silent. 

"  One  day  a  big  boy  was  trying  to  prevent  some  little 
children  going  home,  just  by  that  gate,  and  she  inter- 
fered to  protect  them.  The  boy  up  witli  his  fist  and 
struck  her  on  the  breast.  She  was  very  ill  afterwards, 
and  got  very  thin,  and  we  took  her  to  the  doctors,  but 
it  was  all  no  use,  sir." 

"A  cancer,  I  fear  ?  " 

"  I  think  that  was  the  name  of  it,  sir.  Poor  thing  ! 
it  was  only  fourteen  months  afore  she  came  to  the 
ground." 

"  How  old  are  you  ? "  I  asked  presently. 

"  If  I  live  till  next  month,  sir,  I  shall  be  seventy-five 
years,  and  twenty-four  years  I  have  lived  here.  Yes, 
sir,  it  is  a  lonely  place  in  winter,  bein'  out  of  the  way 
like,  but  I  have  neighbours,  and  my  daughter  lives 
with  me  since  her  mother  died." 

The  old  man  came  and  opened  the  gate  for  me,  and 
as  I  walked  home  there  lingered  the  recollection  of  his 
old-fashioned  ways,  his  quaint  speech,  and  the  simple 
pathos  of  the  phrase  in  which  he  told  of  his  wife's  death  : 
"  She  came  to  the  ground."  With  how  sharp  a  stroke 
it  lays  bare  to  the  mind  the  end  of  this  poor  little  drama 
in  which  most  of  us  are  playing  our  parts  so  ill. 

The  plcasantcst  way  back  to  Hastings  is  to  the  left 
of  the  church,  down   to   the   coast-guard  station,  and 


CH.  II.  Round  about  Hastings.  29 

then  to  the  right  over  the  Downs  and  cliffs,  and 
through  the  fields.  The  sea  is  once  more  in  sight 
nearly  all  the  way,  and  after  passing  a  good  old  farm  to 
the  left,  we  touch  the  road  again,  and  may  either  follow 
that  into  the  town,  or  get  on  to  the  grass  through  a 
little  gate  also  on  the  left  of  the  road.  This  latter 
course  takes  us  far  above  the  town  on  the  East  Cliff, 
and  from  thence  you  look  down  upon  Hastings,  with  its 
queer  jumble  of  churches  and  old-fashioned  houses, 
and  the  boats  drawn  up  upon  the  beach — the  most 
striking  picture  of  the  town  which  can  anywhere  be 
gained. 

Another  of  the  easy  walks  about  here  is  to  Bexhill. 
Follow  the  esplanade  to  the  end  of  the  Marina,  then 
the  road  past  the  railroad  station,  and  under  the  arch, 
and  so  onward  until  the  roadside  inn  called  the  "  Bull  " 
is  reached.  Near  this  inn  may  be  noticed  a  few  ruins 
in  a  field.  They  are  all  that  remain  of  the  parish  church 
of  Bulverhythe  (St.  Mary),  built  by  the  Earls  of  Eu,  or 
Ango,  and  mentioned  in  a  local  return  of  1372.  In  the 
"  Gentleman's  Magazine  "  of  October,  1786, 1  chanced  to 
find  the  following  interesting  reference  to  this  part  of  the 
road  : — "  Crossing  the  end  of  this  valley,  the  road  rises 
gently  to  a  public-house  called  N unhide  Haven,  near 
which  are  ruins  of  a  chapel.  This  is  a  small  distance 
from  the  sea,  and  is  said  here  to  have  been  the  place  of 
the  debarkation  of  William  I.  A  stone  under  the  rocks 
between  this  and  Hastings  is  shown  as  the  table  on 
which  he  ate  his  dinner."  This  stone  is  now  to  be 
seen    in    the   subscription   gardens   at   St.  Leonard's ; 


30  Field  PatJis  and  Green  Lanes. 


whether  William  over  ate  his  dinner  off  it  is  another 
matter. 

A  few  yards  below  the  "Bull  "  Inn— formerly,  I  sup- 
pose, the  "  Nunhide  Heven  " — a  gate  opens  into  a  field, 
and  from  this  point  there  is  a  path  into  the  very  village 
of  Bexhill.  The  distance  from  Dorman's  Library  by  this 
course  is  about  three-and-a-half  miles.  Even  in  winter 
this  is  an  interesting  little  expedition  to  take.  I  made 
it  in  the  middle  of  December  last,  and  although  in  the 
bottoms  the  gi'ound  was  wet  and  slippery,  and  the  trees 
were  of  course  quite  bare,  yet  the  redbreast  and  the 
wren  were  singing  memly  in  the  barren  hedgerows. 
The  leafless  oaks  seemed  twisted  into  a  hundred  stranofe 
and  distorted  shapes  in  the  naked  fields.  "  It  is  a 
great  advantage,"  says  Mr.  Hamerton,  "of  the  wintei 
season  for  tlie  study  of  sylvan  nature,  that  it  enables  us 
to  see  the  structure  of  trunks  and  branches  so  much 
better  than  we  ever  can  do  when  they  are  laden  with 
summer  foliage."*  The  stunted  and  crooked  oaks  in 
the  fields  and  hedges  on  this  road  will  well  reward 
patient  study.  Indeed,  it  is  not  necessary  to  go  from 
London  to  put  Mr.  Hamerton's  statement  to  the  test. 
In  the  short  and  dreary  days  of  winter,  many  a  Lon- 
doner would  find  a  new  world  opened  to  him  if  he 
wandered  among  the  fine  old  trees  in  Kensington 
Gardens,  and  marked  their  wonderful  outlines,  even  as 
presented  against  the  leaden  sky  of  the  great  city. 
Not  that  the  sky  of  London  is  always  of  a  sombre 
colour — only  the  man  who  has  been  up  and  out  very 
*  "Tlie  Sylvan  Year,"  p.  48. 


CH.  11.  Round  about  Hastings.  31 

early  in  the  morning,  has  seen  the  metropolis  at  its 
best.  There  are  certain  wondrous  studies  of  clouds  in 
some  of  Turner's  paintings  which  may  occasionally  be 
seen  in  London,  and  nowhere  else.  Let  anyone  who 
has  ever  chanced  to  see  a  stormy  sunset  from  one  of  the 
bridges,  when  it  has  not  been  raining  for  an  hour  or 
two  previously,  and  the  clouds  are  not  too  low,  recall 
that  wondrous  spectacle,  and  he  will  own  that  there 
are  no  "  effects  "  in  Turner's  skies  more  strange  or 
fascinating. 

Bexhill  stands  high  above  the  surrounding  country, 
in  a  situation  where  it  enjoys  the  freshest  of  land  and 
sea  breezes.  "  People  live  here  as  long  as  they've  a 
mind  to,"  said  a  native  of  the  place,  and  the  local 
records  go  far  to  warrant  the  assertion.  When  George 
the  Third  reached  his  81st  year,  a  party  met  at  the 
Bell  Inn,  Bexhill,  to  drink  the  monarch's  health,  and 
although  there  were  forty-six  persons  present,  the 
youngest  was  over  75.  Their  ages  ranged  between 
that  and  87,  and  several  of  the  festive  party  lived  to 
be  over  92.  Only  three  of  the  whole  number  died 
under  the  age  of  80.  In  the  churchyard  there  are 
several  gravestones  on  which  are  recorded  the  deaths 
of  persons  over  90,  and  the  majority  of  the  population 
seem  to  live  to  be  at  least  70.  Let  us  hope  they  find 
it  worth  their  while. 

The  church  is  rude  and  primitive  in  appearance,  and 
has  been  defaced  within  by  heavy  and  clumsy  galleries, 
but  it  still  remains  a  picturesque  edifice,  not  utterly 
ruined   by  time,    spoliation,  or  bad   taste.     All  these 


32  Field  Paths  and  Green  Lanes.       en.  n. 

destructive  iuflueuccs  have  been  at  work  upon  it. 
Formerly,  there  was  a  stained  glass  window  in  the 
church,  representing  Queen  Eleanor  and  Henry  the 
Third,  a  drawing  of  which  forms  the  frontispiece  to  the 
first  volume  of  Horace  Walpole's  Anecdotes  of  Painting. 
This  window  was  taken  away  from  the  church  by  Lord 
Ashburnham,  and  given  to  Walpole,  who  put  it  up  in 
his  chapel  at  Strawberry  Hill.  When  the  famous  sale 
took  place,  after  Walpole's  death,  the  stolen  property 
was  described  as  "a  very  fine  ancient  stained  glass 
window  in  seventeen  compartments,"  "  brought  from 
the  church  of  Bexhill,  in  Sussex."  It  was  bought  by  a 
Mr.  Whitaker  for  £30  9s.  6c?.,  and  what  was  its  fate 
afterwards,  no  one  has  ever  been  able  to  find  out. 

Service  was  being  held  in  the  church  on  the  December 
day  of  which  I  have  spoken,  and  a  dozen  or  two  candles 
were  scattered  about  the  old  building,  serving  only  to 
make  darkness  visible.  It  was  a  week-day  service,  and 
there  were  exactly  four  persons  present,  three  women 
and  a  man.  Under  such  circumstances,  the  attempt 
made  by  the  clergyman  and  the  congregation  to  intone 
the  service,  in  cathedral  fashion,  seemed  slightly  out  of 
place.  AH  this  district  however,  is  intensely  "High 
Church."  There  is  a  church  at  St.  Leonard's,  nominally 
Protestant,  but  where  the  service  is  conducted  in  a 
manner  which  renders  it  impossible  for  a  stranger  to 
distinguish  it  from  a  Roman  Catholic  service.  All  the 
congregation  make  a  low  genuflexion,  and  cross  them- 
selves as  they  enter  the  building.  They  say  they  are 
Protestants — I  wonder,  then,  what  they  call  the  martyrs 


Round  about  Hastings. 


of  old,  who  were  burnt  alive  because  they  would  not 
comply  with  the  forms  and  ceremonies  which  are 
practised  here  ? 

The  road  between  St.  Leonard's  and  Bexhill  is 
always  a  favourite  hunting  gi'ound  for  beggars.  I  had 
not  got  far  on  my  way  back  when  two  men  overtook 
me,  and  informed  me  that  they  had  a  "long  walk," 
and  were  "  dead  beat."  "  And  pray  how  far  have  you 
walked,"  said  I. 

"  From  Eastbourne.  A  long  road,  sir,  and  a  bad 
'un.  Have  you  got  such  a  thing  as  the  price  of  a 
night's  lodging  about  you." 

"  That  depends  on  what  hotel  you  lodge  at,"  said  I. 
"  Pray  what  are  you  two  men  ?  " 

"  I'm  a  laborer,"  said  the  first,  who  looked  a  respect- 
able sort  of  person,  "  and  ray  mate  here,  he's  a  brick- 
layer. We've  been  to  work  at  Eastbourne  and  now 
are  going  to  Hastings." 

"  Just  got  your  money  for  the  job  at  Eastbourne, 
and  now  begging.  Paid  on  Saturday,  I  suppose,  and 
this  is  Monday,  and  you  are  already  obliged  to  beg  for 
a  night's  lodging  ? " 

"  We've  had  nothing  to  do  for  a  week,"  said  the 
bricklayer.  "  Bricks  is  scarce,  you  can't  get  'em  any- 
where, and  so  work  dries  up.  We  have  to  wait  for  the 
brickmakers." 

"  Then  if  I  were  you  I  would  give  up  bricklaying,  and 
turn  to  brickmakiug." 

"  Tlieir  work  only  lasts  four  months  in  a  year,  and 
then  they  has  to  be  idle." 


34  Field  Paths  and  Green  Lanes.       ch.  h. 

"  Then  I  would  be  a  brickmaker  those  four  months 
and  a  bricklayer  the  rest  of  the  year.  That  would  be 
better  than  beofsinof." 

"Come  on  mate,  the  gent  ain't  a  goin'  to  give  us 
nothing."  And,  in  truth,  if  the  visitor  hereabouts  in- 
tends to  give  to  all  the  beggars  who  accost  him,  and  to 
buy  all  the  shells  and  flowers  that  are  presented  to  his 
notice,  he  had  better  go  out  with  a  very  long  purse. 

At  St.  Leonard's  there  will  be  found  an  excellent 
library  and  many  good  shops.  The  subscription  gardens 
are  pleasant  in  summer,  and  at  the  back  of  them,  nearly 
at  the  top  of  the  hill,  there  is  a  house  whose  grounds 
are  a  favourite  resort  of  starlings.  They  may  be  seen 
there  in  great  flocks  all  through  the  winter,  and  towards 
night  their  behaviour  is  exactly  that  which  Charles  St. 
John  describes :  "  As  the  dusk  of  evening  comes  on 
they  wheel  to  and  fro,  sometimes  settling  on,  and  again 
rising  from  the  reeds,  till  at  last  having  arranged 
themselves  to  their  satisfaction  they  remain  quiet  for 
the  night."  "^  There  must  often  have  been  at  least  five 
hundred  birds  in  some  of  the  flocks  I  have  seen  in 
these  gardens.  Further  on  the  road,  past  St.  Leonard's 
Green,  the  visitor  will  soon  find  that  he  is  in  a  country 
much  loved  by  birds.  The  robin's  welcome  and  cheer- 
ful note  may  be  heard  all  through  the  winter,  and  the 
skylark  and  the  thrush  begin  to  sing  early  in  February. 
The  missel-bird  is  also  common  at  that  time,  and  the 
hedges  begin  to  bud,  and  wild  flowers  peep  out  from 
under  the  grass  on  the  bank,  and  the  old  folks  and 

*  "  Natural  History  ami  Sport  in  Moray,"  p.  247. 


cu.  11.  Round  about  Hastings.  35 

invalids  begin  to  brighten  up  and  persuade  themselves 
that  the  winter  is  over — whereas  the  east  wind  comes 
anon,  and  makes  sore  all  their  bones,  and  fills  them 
with  misery. 

•  From  Bexhill  there  is  a  very  pleasant  walk  to 
Hove,  about  four  miles.  The  road  through  the  village 
leads  by  a  rather  steep  hill  to  Little  Common,  passing 
along  a  ridge  which  commands  very  striking  views  of 
Beachy  Head  and  the  South  Downs,  and  landward  far 
over  the  weald  of  Sussex.  The  "Wheatsheaf"  at 
Little  Common  is  a  comfortable  old  inn,  with  a  fine 
tree  on  the  village  green  before  the  door.  From  hence 
the  visitor  may  turn  to  the  right,  and  make  his  way 
back  to  St.  Leonard's  through  the  picturesque  High 
Woods  and  Sidley  Green — a  long  round,  but  one 
which  will  lead  the  traveller,  whether  on  horse  or  foot, 
through  some  of  the  loveliest  country  in  this  part  of 
Sussex.  From  the  "  Wheatsheaf,"  the  road  to  Hove 
goes  straight  forward,  the  beginning  of  the  parish  being 
about  two  miles  from  the  inn.  The  village  is  ten  miles 
from  Hastings,  and  the  best  plan  is  to  take  the  train  to 
Bexhill  and  walk  from  there.  The  ancient  church 
contains  a  curious  stained  glass  window,  with  figures,  as 
some  say,  of  Edward  IIL  and  Queen  Philippe.  The 
window  is  said  to  be  of  much  the  same  kind  as  the 
one  stolen  from  Bexhill.  There  is  also  a  long  but 
lovely  walk  to  Catsfield,  where,  at  a  corner  of  the 
churchyard,  an  old  pollarded  oak  may  still  be  seen, 
which  was  in  its  gay  green  youth  before  the  days  of  the 
Conquest. 


CHAPTER    III. 

TWO     OLD     CHURCHES. 

Crowliurst  and  Etchingham.— The  Road  to  Crowhurst.— The  "Wild 
Flowers  of  Winter. — Modern  Houses  and  Old  Ruins. — The 
Famous  Yew  Tree. — Californian  Trees. — Yews  in  Churchyards. 
— Etchingham  and  its  Church. — The  Village  Graves. — Spring 
Time  in  Sussex. — A  Siiecinien  of  "Old  Sussex." — "Ameri- 
canisms."— Burwash,  or  "Burghersh." — The  Parish  Clerk  and 
his  Ancestors. — The  Iron  Slab. — A  Request  for  Information. — 
Tlie  Use  of  a  Wife.— A  Walk  to  Robertsbridge. 

Crowhurst  and  Etchingliam  churches  are  among 
the  oldest  in  Sussex,  and  certainly  among  the  best 
worth  vi.siting,  as  well  for  the  associations  connected 
with  them  as  for  the  scenery  which  surrounds  them. 
They  are  far  apart,  but  anyone  who  can  give  a  day  to 
each  will  not  call  his  time  mis.spcnt. 

From  cither  the  London  road  at  St.  Leonard's,  or  that 
which  runs  up  by  the  side  of  the  Assembly  rooms,  the 
way  to  Crowhurst  is  very  simple.  A  little  beyond  St. 
Leonard's  Green,  there  arc  some  pleasant  residences  on 
the  loft.  This  is  called  Hollington  Park,  and  a  short 
distance  down,  a  path  will  be  seen  running  across  fields 
to  the  left.  Take  this,  and  it  will  bring  you  on  to  the 
main  road,  near  an  oak  tree,  by  which  a  road  runs  to  the 
left  again.     If  you  follow  the  latter  road,  it  will  bring 


CH.  in.  Two  Old  Clnirches.  37 

you  by  a  pleasant  walk  out  upon  the  Bexliill  road,  or 
by  fields  back  to  St.  Leonard's.  The  Crowhurst  road 
goes  straightforward,  and  will  be  found  to  consist  chiefly 
of  hills — not  at  all  a  road  to  be  tackled  by  poor  pedes- 
trians. The  distance  from  St.  Leonard's  is  fully  six 
miles.  This  road  is  strewn  thickly  on  both  sides  with 
wild  flowers — by  the  first  week  in  March,  I  found  the 
daisy,  herb-whort,  and  wild  strawberry  in  abundance, 
primroses  were  so  thick  as  almost  to  hide  the  grass, 
and  the  lesser  celandine  shone  out  brilliantly  from  its 
bed  of  leaves.  The  views  range  far  over  the  fields  and 
hills,  or  seaward  over  the  headlands,  and  miles  away 
towards  Beachy  Head  and  the  Channel. 

The  village  of  Crowliurst  makes  a  fair  appearance 
from  the  hill,  but  when  you  get  down  you  wonder  what 
has  become  of  it,  for  it  has  almost  entirely  disappeared. 
It  lies,  however,  to  the  left  of  the  point  where  the  road 
forks,  while  the  road  to  the  right  takes  you  to  the 
church — a  delightful  old  church,  neat  and  pleasant 
within,  and  rendered  a  true  pilgrim's  shrine  without 
by  its  grand  old  tower,  its  amazing  yew  tree,  and  the 
ruins  just  below  it  of  an  old  manor  house,  said  to  have 
been  built  in  12:0.  The  effect  of  these  ancient  remains 
is  much  marred  by  an  unsightly  red  and  yellow  brick 
building,  a  farmhouse,  which  has  been  stuck  there 
without  the  slightest  regard  for  common  decency.  For 
surely  this  old  church  and  its  surroundings  deserved 
better  treatment  than  to  have  these  hideous  flaring 
monstrosities  pushed  up  close  against  it.  A  little  way 
above,  at  a  point  to  which  the  visitor  naturally  goes  for 


38  Field  Paths  and  Gj^ccii  Lanes.      en.  m. 

a  good  view  of  tlie  church,  there  are  three  or  four 
abominable  cottages,  the  models  of  everything  that  is 
unsightly  and  detestable  in  "architecture."  How  can 
the  man  who  built  these  have  tlie  coolness  to  look  his 
fellow-creatures  in  the  face  again  ? 

If  the  church  tower  and  the  old  manor-house  could 
not  have  kept  back  the  hand  of  the  spoiler,  that 
venerable  yew  tree  in  the  churchyard  ought  to  have 
scared  him  off.  Mr.  M.  A.  Lower  relates  that  it  "is 
said  to  be  three  thousand  years  old."  I  will  believe 
almost  anything  of  a  yew  tree,  but  not  quite  tliai.  Mr. 
Lower  gives  thirty-three  feet  as  the  circumference  of 
the  tree.  Murray  speaks  of  it  as  twenty-seven  feet  at 
four  feet  from  the  ground,  I  have  measured  it  more 
than  once  at  five  feet  from  the  ground,  and  find  it 
twenty- six  and  a  half  feet  to  a  fraction.  But  there  is 
a  split  or  cleft  in  the  trunk,  causing  rather  a  wide 
opening,  and  that,  of  course,  increases  the  measure- 
ment. In  the  Rev  C.  A.  Johns's  work  on  Forest  Trees, 
there  is  a  view  of  a  "yew  tree  at  Crowhurst,"  which, 
doubtless,  was  intended  for  this  tree.  But  it  never  can 
have  been  a  correct  view,  for  the  path  is  placed  on  the 
wrong  side  of  the  tree,  and  neither  at  Crowhurst  in 
Surrey  or  Sussex  does  the  great  yew  stand  in  any  such 
position  as  that  represented  in  the  engraving,  nor  is 
there  any  resemblance  to  the  tree  itself.  The  top 
alone  is  now  green,  and  even  that  is  much  broken  off 
and  battered  by  the  winds,  while  below  all  is  a  melan- 
choly wreck — the  trunk  shattered  and  hollow,  and 
crumbling  to  pieces  with  age.     A  part  of  the  trunk  is 


Tivo  Old  CJlilvcJlcs. 


held  to  the  main  body  of  the  tree  by  an  iron  band, 
which  looks  as  if  that  also  needed  to  be  renewed.  Mr. 
Selby  in  his  Forest  Trees  says  that  this  yew  "still 
carries  a  noble  and  flourishing  head."  That  description 
of  it  could  not  be  given  now.  There  are  still  green 
leaves,  but  there  is  scarcely  a  branch  or  twig  which  does 
not  look  as  if  it  had  been  snapped  off  in  the  middle, 
and  the  heavy  gales  of  last  winter  did  it  grievous  hurt. 
I  stood  by  it  one  windy  day  in  January  Avhen  the 
groaning  and  creaking  of  its  branches,  as  they  ground 
against  each  other,  was  a  distressing  sound  to  hear. 

We  often  hear  much  of  the  "  big  trees  "  of  California, 
but  are  many  of  them  larger  in  girth  than  this  ancient 
tree?  The  South  Park  Grove  is  said  to  boast  of  a  tree, 
the  home  of  a  trapper  named  Smith,  which  is  thirty 
feet  in  diameter.  But  some  of  the  largest  which  have 
been  properly  measured  are  no  more  than  eighteen  feet 
round.  When  we  come  to  height,  it  is  another  matter, 
for,  according  to  the  old  story,  the  trees  in  California 
are  so  high  that  it  takes  two  men  and  a  boy  to  look  to 
the  top  of  one  of  them. 

Now  supposing  that  this  yew  is  1200  years  old,  it 
will  be  a  very  difficult  thing  to  make  any  one  believe 
that  it  was  planted  there  as  "an  emblem  of  immor- 
tality." This  is  the  explanation  given  by  Mr.  Johns 
and  many  other  writers  of  the  yew  being  found  so 
frequently  in  churchyards.  "Generation  after  genera- 
tion," he  says,  "  might  be  gathered  to  their  fathers,  the 
yew  tree  proclaiming  to  those  who  remained,  that  all, 
like  the  ever-green  unchanging  yew,  were  yet  living,  in 


40  Field  Paths  and  G^'cen  Lanes.      ch.  m. 

another  world,  tlio  life  wliicli  had  been  the  object  of 
their  desire."  The  idea  is,  no  doubt,  an  attractive  one, 
but  it  is  far  more  probable  that  pagan  superstition  led 
to  these  ancient  trees  being  planted  in  the  spots  where 
Avc  now  find  them  than  a  belief  in  the  Christian  doctrine 
of  immortality.  Mr.  Bowman  supposes  that  its  brandies 
were  employed  by  our  "  pagan  ancestors,  on  their  first 
arrival  here,  as  the  best  substitute  for  the  cypress,  to 
deck  the  graves  of  the  dead  and  for  other  sacred 
purposes."  The  theory  that  the  yew  was  planted  in 
churchyards  in  order  that  it  might  protect  the  sacred 
edifice,  or  provide  the  neighl)ourhood  witli  wood  for 
bows,  seems  to  me  to  be  exploded  in  a  few  words  by  a 
writer  whose  article  I  happened  to  come  across  in  the 
"Gentleman's  Magazine"  for  178G  (Vol.  h^,  p.  941).  He 
says :  "  It  is  difficult  to  di.scover  what  influenced  our 
ancestors  to  place  this  tree  so  generally  in  churchyards; 
scarce  any  could  be  selected  which  is  so  ill  adapted  to 
be  planted  for  protection,  from  the  slowness  of  its 
growth  and  the  horizontal  direction  of  its  branches, 
both  of  which  circumstances  prevent  its  rising  high 
enough,  even  in  a  century,  to  shelter  from  storms  a 
building  of  moderate  height;  neither  would  one  tree 
answer  the  purpose  of  supplying  a  whole  pari.sh  with 
bows."  Many  of  our  churches  were  doubtless  built  on 
spots  where  our  ancestors  worshipped  before  the  intro- 
duction of  Christianity,  and  the  yew,  which  was 
regarded  with  merely  superstitious  feelings,  was  suf- 
fered to  remain. 

Instead  of  returning  to  Hastings  by  the  same  way, 


CH.  in.  Two  Old  Churches.  41 

the  visitor  may  continue  on  past  the  church,  and  the 
hideous  cottages  before  referred  to,  and  so  straight 
forward  till  he  comes  to  another  main  road  running 
right  and  left.  He  will  turn  to  the  right  (the  left 
leads  to  Battle)  and  go  straight  down  hill  through 
the  despicable  village  of  Hollington,  with  its  stuccoed 
cottages,  past  Silverhill,  and  so  on  either  to  St.  Leonard's 
or  Hastings.  About  three-quarters  of  a  mile  beyond 
Crowhurst  church,  there  is  a  fine  view  of  Battle  in  the 
distance,  and  also  of  Mr.  Brassey's  house  "  Norman- 
hurst."  Crowhurst  Park  skirts  the  roadside,  but  the 
house  is  not  within  sight. 

The  pilgrimage  to  the  fine  old  church  at  Etchingham 
(properly  Echyngham)  is  a  more  distant  one  from 
Hastings — fourteen  miles;  but  it  may  be  made  in  a 
pleasant  manner  by  taking  the  train  to  Etchingham, 
and  returning  from  Robertsbridge.  The  church  stands 
at  a  short  distance  from  the  line,  and  the  keys  may  be 
had  at  the  shop  in  the  village.  Passengers  on  the  rail- 
road often  ask,  "Where  is  the  villaore  of  Etchinfjham?" 
fancying  that  there  must  be  a  respectable  sized  town 
near  so  large  a  church.  But  it  is  not  so;  all  that  there 
is  of  Etchingham  can  be  seen  from  the  line — a  general 
shop,  a  public  house  and  stables,  and  a  few  scattered 
cottages  beyond.  The  house  on  the  left  of  the  line 
was  once  a  fine  old  mansion  known  as  "  Haremare," 
but  it  has  been  entirely  altered  or  rebuilt. 

On  entering  the  church  one  is  struck  with  its  height 
and  the  beauty  of  its  proportions,  and  is  not  surprised 
to  find  in  Mr.  Lower's  "Compendious  History  of  Sussex," 


42  Field  Paths  and  Green  Lanes.      m.  m. 

the  opinion  that  "when  complete  and  undefaccd  by  the 
barbarous  neglect  of  later  times,  this  grand  edifice  must 
have  been  among  the  noblest  of  baronial  churches." 
Some  fragments  of  the  stained  glass  still  remain  in 
the  windows  here  and  there,  and  the  weather-vane  out- 
side is  said  to  have  been  originally  on  a  still  older  church 
than  the  present,  although  this  one  was  erected  in 
the  fourteenth  century.  The  vane  is  "banner-shaped," 
and  is  said  to  bear  the  "  frettd  coat  of  the  De  Echyno-- 
liams,"  that  family  which  once  were  lords  of  the  manor, 
and  several  of  whose  members  now  sleep  in  the  church. 
In  the  chancel,  in  front  of  the  altar  rails,  is  a  brass 
to  the  memory  of  Sir  William  de  Echyngham,  of  the 
date  1345.  The  head  is  gone,  but  the  rest  of  the 
figure  remains  untouched.  Just  westward  of  it  is  a 
fine  brass  with  three  effigies  upon  it,  a  lady  between 
two  male  figures,  all  in  perfect  order.  The  men  have  a 
bluff,  Henry  the  Eighth,  sort  of  look  about  them  ;  the 
lady  was  perhaps  intended  to  have  been  pretty.  This 
brass  is  dated  1444.  The  choir  and  screen  are  ancient, 
and  give  the  church  a  stately  appearance.  On  the 
south  side  of  the  nave  is  a  very  plain  brass  with  two 
female  figures  engraved  upon  it,  and  near  a  pillar  is  a 
plate  from  which  I  copied  the  following  inscription  : 
"  Here  lies  the  only  sonne  of  Sr.  GyfFord  Thornhurst 
Barronett  an  Infant  by  Dame  Susan  Thornhurst,  Now 
Living,  the  only  daughter  of  Sr.  Alex.  Temple,  Kt.,  1G2G." 
The  letters  are  as  fresh  and  clear  as  if  they  had  been 
cut  but  yesterday.  There  is  an  old  helmet  and  other 
relics  of  a  knight  hung  high  upon  the  wall.     The  font 


CH.  III.  Tivo  Old  ChiLj^chcs.  43 

is  of  great  antiquity,  but  has  the  appearance  of  having 
been  much  polished  up  or  "  restored."  The  church,  five 
hundred  years  ago,  was  surrounded  by  a  moat,  and  Mr. 
Lower  says  that  there  is  a  legend  setting  forth  that  a 
great  bell  lies  at  the  bottom  of  this  moat,  and  that  it 
will  "  never  be  brought  to  light  until  six  j'^oke  of  white 
oxen  can  be  found  to  drag  it  forth."  After  a  great 
prevalence  of  wet  weather,  such  as  was  experienced  in 
the  winter  of  1876-77,  the  visitor  will  be  inclined  to 
think  that  the  moat  is  by  no  means  a  thing  of  the  past, 
for  the  meadows  near  the  church  are  flooded,  and  the 
whole  "bottom  "  is  under  water. 

There  is  a  very  old  yew-tree  at  the  west  end  of  the 
churchyard,  much  decayed  and  weather-beaten,  but 
fighting  time  gallantly,  as  its  family  have  a  way  of 
doing.  When  I  was  last  there  in  March,  the  simple 
country  graves  were  covered  with  homely  bimches  of 
primroses  and  "  Lent  lilies,"  and  the  thrushes  and 
blackbirds  were  keeping  up  the  sweetest  of  all  choruses 
in  the  neiohbouring  bushes  and  trees.  It  was  the 
lambing  season,  and  great  was  the  bleating  going  on  in 
all  directions.  At  the  east  end  of  the  churchyard  there 
is  a  smaller  yew,  and  beyond  this  point  the  ancient 
manor-house  once  stood,  also  moated.  The  great  yew, 
which  is  the  pride  of  the  churchyard,  is  about  eighteen 
feet  in  circumference,  and  has  a  seat  all  round  it  for  the 
convenience  of  the  rustics. 

About  two  and  a  half  miles  to  the  south-west  there 
is  an  interesting  corner  of  "  old  Sussex  "  called  Burwash 
— that  being  the  shape  into  which  the  ancient  name  of 


44  Field  Paths  and  Green  Lanes.      ch.  m. 

Burgliersh  has  gradually  twisted  itself.  The  manor 
once  bulongcd  to  the  family  of  De  Burgliersh,  but  the 
race  has  long  since  disappeared  from  this  part,  and 
the  name  is  only  represented  by  the  local  pronunciation 
of  Biirrisli.  I  was  curious  to  see  this  old  village — the 
centre,  not  many  years  ago,  of  one  of  the  wildest  and 
most  lawless  populations  in  all  Sussex, — and  started  off 
to  find  it. 

A  little  way  up  the  road  there  is  the  village  post- 
office,  and  close  by  is  the  rectory,  a  comfortable  house 
surrounded  with  fine  trees,  in  which  a  colony  of  rooks 
were  hard  at  work  amid  much  noise  and  darting  to  and 
fro.  When  the  top  of  the  road  is  reached,  there  is 
a  lovely  view^  for  many  miles  around ;  a  tall  pillar 
stands  conspicuously  on  a  hill  a  few  miles  off.  This 
is  an  obelisk  on  Brightling  Down,  known  hereabouts  as 
"  the  Brightling  needle."  The  beauty  of  this  neighbour- 
hood is  beginning  to  attract  new  residents,  and  one 
good  house  stands  a  little  way  back  from  the  road,  and, 
as  an  old  man  with  whom  I  struck  up  an  acquaintance 
informed  me,  belonged  to  "a  haixhitect."  This  old 
fellow  told  me  that  he  was  born  at  Etchingham — which 
he  pronounced  "  aitch-an-ham,"  each  syllable  distinctly 
— and  had  scarcely  been  ten  miles  away  from  it  in  his 
life.  He  spoke  the  East  Sussex  dialect  in  all  its  vigour, 
and  it  was  with  difficulty  that  I  made  out  one  half  of 
what  he  said. 

"  This  harchitect,"  said  he,  "  biirt  this  place  and  built 
it  all  of  the  best  'terials,  begor.  It  was  nowt  but  a  field 
covered  with  ammut  castees."     "  Begor,"  or  "  begorra," 


cii.  III.  Tzvo  Old  CImrchcs.  45 

I  have  seen  put  into  the  mouths  of  Irishmen  in  novels 
and  on  the  stage,  but  here  was  this  old  Sussex  man  using 
the  word  repeatedly.  His  "  ammut  castees  "  bothered 
me  until,  on  my  return  home,  I  searched  in  the  excellent 
"  Dictionary  of  the  Sussex  Dialect,"  by  the  Rev.  W.  D. 
Parish,  of  Selmeston  (a  parish,  by-the-by,  which  is 
locally  called  "  Simpson "),  and  there  I  found  the 
words  properly  entered:  "  Ammut-castes :  Emmet-casts; 
ant-hills." 

"  They  rooks  as  you  see  on  barson's  place,"  continued 
the  old  man,  "  only  coom  a  few  year  agoo.  About 
fi'  year  back,  ten  or  a  doozen  coom,  and  the  next  year 
about  varty,  and  now  you  see  as  there  be  a  hundreds 
of  'em.  Queer  birds,  they  be — sometimes  coom  all  of 
a  sudden,  and  then  go  away  again  same  way." 

Two  rough-looking  men  were  a  little  way  a-head, 
and  I  was  surprised  to  see  them  in  such  an  out-of-the- 
way  place,  for  they  were  evidently  tramps,  and  very 
bad  faces  they  had,  "  Do  you  know  these  men  ? "  I 
asked. 

"  Wait  till  we  cooms  up  to  'em,"  said  he,  "  and  I'll 
tell  'ee."  Then  when  we  had  passed  and  he  had  taken 
a  sharp  glance  at  them,  he  said,  "  Ay,  they  be 
runagates^' — i.e.,  ne'er-do-wells. 

I  was  delighted  to  get  a  present  of  this  good  old 
Biblical  and  Shakspearian  word,  and  was  almost 
equally  pleased  when  my  companion  presently  used 
the  word  imad  in  the  sense  of  angry.  This  is  what 
some  people  would  call  a  genuine  Americanism — an 
"  Americanism  "  being  in  nine  cases  out  of  ten  an  old 


46  Field  Paths  and  Green  Lanes.      cu.  m. 

Englisli  word  preserved  in  its  ancient  sense.  My 
Etcliingliaiii  friend  frequently  made  use  of  the  expres- 
sion "  I  reckon,"  so  that,  but  for  his  misplaced  li's — 
and  he  dropped  them  all  over  the  road  in  a  most  reck- 
less and  amazing  manner, — he  might  have  been  a 
Southern  or  Western  American.  He  also  used  the 
word  "Fall,"  in  speaking  of  the  autumn.  I  am  told 
that  most  hard-winged  insects  are  commonly  called 
"bugs,"  as  in  America, — thus  we  hear  of  the  lady-bug 
(lady  bird),  the  May-bug  (cockchafer),  the  June-bug 
(the  gi-een  beetle),  and  so  forth.  I  have  heard  the 
word  "  axey  "  for  ague  in  the  Eastern  States,  just  as  it 
is  used  to  this  hour  in  many  parts  of  Sussex. 

The  Rectory  at  Etchingham  is  an  attractive  looking 
place,  but  it  is  quite  cast  into  the  shade  by  the 
"biirson's"  house  at  Burwash.  It  is  surrounded  with 
stately  old  trees,  and  seems  to  be  one  of  the  most 
charming  residences  in  this  part  of  the  county.  "He  be 
rich,"  said  the  old  man  ;  "  why  the  tithes  of  this  parish 
coom  to  more'n  eleven  'underd  poons  a-year."  The 
parish  is  a  very  large  one — between  nine  and  ten  miles 
in  length — and  there  are  many  good  farms  in  it.  It  was 
formerly  the  "birth-place  or  sheltcring-place  of  rick- 
burners,  sheep-stealers,  and  thieves,"  and  now  is  a  quiet 
agricultural  district.  As  for  the  church,  the  steeple  or 
spire  is  almost  the  only  relic  of  its  former  self  which 
the  restorer  has  spared. 

I  found  the  clerk  in  a  little  cottage — an  old  man 
with  a  bad  cold.  His  wheezings  and  splutterings, 
and  the  perpetual  drop  which  was  unfortunately  sus- 


cii.  III.  Two  Old  CJmrchcs.  47 

pended  from  his  nose,  made  him  rather  an  unsatisfactory 
person  to  he  with  for  any  lengthened  period. 

When  we  entered  the  churchyard,  he  pointed  out  to 
me  a  row  of  six  or  seven  graves.  "  That's  the  place," 
said  he,  "  where  my  family  lie.  My  grandfather  and 
grandmother  are  theer,  and  that's  my  mother,  and 
that's  my  first  wife,  and  them  be  my  two  children." 
He  pointed  them  all  out  with  a  kind  of  pride.  "  My 
mother  died  sixty  year  agoo." 

The  lime  trees  in  the  churchyard  are  tall  and  well 
shaped,  and  there  is  a  yew,  but  of  no  great  size. 
Inside  the  church,  all  has  a  bran-new  appearance, 
except  the  font,  on  which  is  the  Pelham  buckle,  and 
a  forlorn  old  slab  which  used  to  be  in  the  chancel, 
but  which  is  now  nailed  up  in  an  out-of-the-way  corner, 
like  a  bat  to  a  barn  door.  This  slab  is  of  iron,  and  was 
cast  at  a  foundry  not  far  off,  in  the  days  when  iron 
foundries  still  existed  in  this  part  of  Sussex. 

"It  was  made  at  Starkmush  Farm,"  said  the^ clerk. 
I  had  half  a  mind  to  ask  him  to  spell  it,  but  that  would 
have  been  too  absurd.  I  found  out  that  the  name  of  the 
place  was  Sochnarsli,  and  that  the  slab  (on  which  the 
words  "  Orate  pro  annema  Jhone  CoUine  "  are  to  be 
traced)  is  to  the  memory  of  one  of  the  Collins  family,  who 
became  extinct  here  in  1753.  The  old  clerk  said  the 
inscription  was  "pray  for  poor  John  Collins,"  vaguely 
suggestive  of  a  drink  invented  by  a  waiter  at  the  now 
extinct  Limmer's  Hotel. 

But,  not  knowing  the  facts  at  the  time,  I  kept  repeat- 
ing the  old  clerk's  name  of  "Starkmush"  in  despair. 


48  Field  Paths  and  Green  Lanes.      en.  m. 


"  I  don't  know  how  they  spell  him,"  he  said,  the  tear 
still  persistently  dripping  from  the  wrong  place.  "  Some 
spell  it  some  way,  some  another.  It  be  like  people's 
names — you  spell  'em  how  you  like.  Surnames  might 
he  anything  now-a-days.  Can  you  tell  me  one  thing, 
sir  ?  They  do  say  as  we  are  all  sprung  from  Adam 
and  Eve,  yet  there  be  95,000,000  of  different  names 
in  the  world.     How  do  you  account  for  that,  sir  1 " 

I  said  I  would  think  it  over.  Then,  seeing  that  I 
was  writing  something  in  a  note-book,  he  asked, 

"  Be  you  a  makin'  of  a  chronology,  sir  ?  Because  if 
you  be,  you  might  like  to  know  as  the  clerkship  'as 
been  in  my  family  ever  since  the  year  1738,  witiiout 
e'er  a  break." 

"  I  will  put  that  in  the  chronology,"  I  said. 
"Ay,  do,  sir.  I  am  pretty  old  myself,  but — "  he 
stopped  short,  and  his  face  fell.  I  looked  round,  and 
saw  his  wife— not  his  first  wife— coming  in  at  the  gate 
after  him.  Doubtless  she  scented  afar  off  the  shilling 
I  had  just  handed  over,  and  was  on  guard  to  convey  it 
home. 

"If  I  were  you,"  said  I  to  the  clerk,  "I  would  lock  the 
old  lady  up  here  in  the  church  while  I  went  to  get  my 
p-lass  of  ale." 

"  You  would  really,  sir  ? " 
"  Indeed  I  would." 

It  evidently  struck  him  as  a  beautiful  idea,  and  he 
dwelt  on  it  long  and  lovingly,  and  gazed  at  me  as  a 
kind  of  genius  for  suggesting  it.  But  he  had  not  the 
strenf'th  of  mind  to  act  upon  it.     "  I  coom  to  zee  arter 


cii.  in.  Tzvo  Old  Chttrches.  49 

my  spectacles,"  said  the  old  woman,  "  did  you  take 
'em?"  Did  anybody  ever  know  one  of  the  sex  to  be  at 
a  loss  for  an  excuse  ?  The  old  clerk  was  taken  in  tow, 
and  bade  me  good  day  with  a  disconsolate  air.  That 
dreadful  drop  grew  larger  than  ever,  and  as  we  went 
out  of  the  gate  he  motioned  once  more  towards  his 
little  property  in  the  churchyard,  and  said,  "  that's  my 
own  mother,  and  she  be  dead  sixty  year.  And  that 
be  my  first  wife,"  and  a  look  in  his  face  seemed  to 
say  that  it  was  a  thousand  pities  his  second  was  not 
there  also. 

The  one  street  of  Burwash  runs  straight  down  from 
the  churchyard  gate.  The  "  Bear  "  Inn  looks  old  and 
snug,  and  there  is  a  fine  house,  apparently  of  Queen 
Anne's  time,  with  a  well-carved  doorway.  It  is  the 
very  picture  of  a  roomy  and  comfortable  home.  But 
no  one  could  tell  me  anything  about  it. 

I  now  walked  back  to  Etchingham,  with  the  inten- 
tion of  going  from  there  to  Robertsbridge  over  the 
fields — little  moi'e  than  two  miles.  But  the  fields  were 
half  flooded,  and  a  steady  down-pour  of  rain  came  on, 
and  so  I  determined  to  stick  to  the  road. 

And  this  undoubtedly  commands  the  finest  views, 
for  the  road  runs  high  above  the  valley,  while  the 
field-path  is  in  a  hollow,  hugging  the  river  Rother — a 
swollen  stream  just  then — nearly  the  whole  way.  The 
distance  to  Robertsbridge  by  road  is  a  long  four  miles. 
Yet  it  is  well  worth  walking  over — the  country  is 
lovely,  the  views  everywhere  superb.  You  leave  the 
house  of  Haremare  just  below  you,  and  keep  always 


50  Field  Paths  and  Green  Lanes.      cu.  m. 

to  the  right.  The  rain  came  down  without  ceasing, 
the  roads  were  muddy,  and  the  east  wind  was  rather 
shai'p  ;  but  I  had  barely  an  hour  to  do  tlic  four  miles 
in,  and  the  birds  were  singing  in  the  hedgerows  and 
trees,  and  I  had  the  satisfaction  of  spying  out  among 
some  primroses  my  first  "  cuckoo-flower"  of  the  season 
— the  lady-smock  of  Shakspeare.  How  could  the  road 
be  dull  ?  With  a  light  heart  and  a  quick  step  I  soon 
reached  Hurst  Green,  a  village  with  nothing  particular 
about  it,  and  then  through  the  toll  gate  to  the  right, 
and  all  down  hill  to  Robertsbridge,  where  a  rich  abbey 
stood  in  1176,  the  remains  of  which  have  been  used  in 
our  own  day  for  the  noble  purpose  of  mending  the 
roads.  A  pleasant  little  town  is  Robertsbridge,  with 
some  good  houses  round  about  it,  and  most  beautiful 
country  at  the  back.  It  is  only  thirteen  miles  from 
Hastings,  and  for  a  moment  I  thought  I  would  go  on. 
But  I  had  made  a  long  round  already,  and  enough  is 
as  good  as  a  feast,  although  how  can  one  tell  when  one 
has  had  enough  of  these  charming  old  country  roads 
and  fields  and  hedges  ? 


CHAPTER    IV. 

THREE    CASTLES— PEVENSEY,    HURSTMONCEUX,    AND 
BODIAM. 

"  Anderida."— Old  Churches  Made  New. — The  Road  Across  the 
Marsh. —"Naun  about  Flowers." — The  Castle  and  Church  at 
Hurstmonceux. — Extinct  Yeomanry  Families. — Two  Barns,  one 
Old  and  one  New. — Gardner  Street. — Tipsy  England. — Hail- 
sham. — A  Relic  of  the  Van-Cortlandts. — The  Road  to  Bodiam. 
— Salehurst  and  its  Church. — A  Morning  Bouquet. — The  Fair 
Warden  of  Bodiam. 

Pevensey  is  sacred  ground  to  the  arcligeologist.  It 
v/as  an  ancient  British  settlement,  and  the  Romans  built 
a  castle  here  of  which  the  remains  are  still  to  be  seen  even 
from  the  railroad.  "  Fifteen  centm-ies  stand  between 
[the  visitor]  and  the  builders,"  says  Mr.  Roach  Smith, 
and  he  adds  that  if  the  said  visitor  tears  "aside  the 
ivy  that  clings  to  the  facing  of  the  wall,  he  will  find 
the  course  of  the  mason's  trowel  marked  as  freshly  as 
if  the  tool  had  smoothed  the  mortar  only  a  few  months 
since."  But  Mr.  M.  A.  Lower  would  take  us  back  to 
a  still  more  distant  period.  "  The  most  remarkable 
coins,"  he  says  in  his  "  Compendious  History  of 
Sussex,"  "ever  found  here  are  those  of  some  of  the 
Bactrian  kings,  Radpluses,  Menander,  and  Apollodotus, 
who   flourished   about   200    years   B.C,"      As    to    the 


52  Field  Paths  and  Green  Lanes.      en.  iv. 

accuracy  of  this  statement,  it  is  beyond  my  province  to 
speak — the  idle  tourist  will  be  content  to  leave  such 
questions  to  the  learned  Thebans.  Certain  it  is  that 
here  a  settlement  of  native  Britons  was  exterminated 
by  the  first  South  Saxon  king,  and  that  here  also,  but 
so  long  afterwards  that  the  date  seems  almost  recent 
by  comparison,  William  the  Conqueror  landed  for  the 
first  time  in  England.  A  long,  long  history  is  that  of 
Pevensey,  and  sliort  work  would  the  antiquaries  make 
of  any  simple  summer-day's  rover  who  attempted  to 
deal  with  it.  Far  be  it  from  me  to  venture  on  such 
dangerous  territory.  As  I  walked  up  the  quaint 
villaffo  street  of  Westham  which  leads  to  tlic  castle,  I 
thouglit  to  myself,  "  Let  us  first  step  aside  to  see  this 
old  church,  with  its  aisle  and  chancel  of  the  time  of 
Edward  the  Fourth,  and  its  memorials  to  many  a 
family  now  gone  and  forgotten.  Here  we  shall  see  a 
famous  carved  screen  made  in  the  days  of  Henry  the 
Sixth,  and  ancient  windows  such  as  no  man  will 
mind  walking  a  dozen  miles  to  look  at."  While  thus 
ruminating  on  the  treat  before  me,  the  sound  of  work- 
men's hammers  fell  upon  ray  ear.  I  had  crossed  the 
threshold  of  the  church,  and  what  a  spectacle  presented 
itself!  The  whole  of  the  inside  was  literally  "  gutted" 
— the  walls  had  been  torn  down  and  were  lying  in 
confused  heaps  upon  the  floor,  mortar  was  being  mixed 
on  gi-ave-stones  with  ancient  crosses  carved  upon  them, 
the  pews,  communion-table,  windows,  all  were  clean 
gone.  "  What  are  you  doing  with  the  church  ? "  said 
I   to   a   man   who  was    hammering   away  on  an  old 


Three  Castles.  53 


slab.  "  We  be  a  restoring  of  un,"  replied  he  without 
looking  up.     I  fled  in  horror  from  the  scene. 

Within  the  walls  of  "Anderida"  a  few  cows  were 
munching  the  grass,  and  turned  to  look  lazily  at  the 
solitary  intruder  who  had  invaded  their  domain.  The 
walls  are  low  and  ivy-clad,  and  there  is  little  within 
them  to  satisfy  the  seeker  after  the  picturesque.  Yet 
to  those  who  know  anything  of  the  history  of  their 
country,  few  places  in  England  will  possess  greater 
interest  than  this,  for  every  inch  of  it  is  classic 
soil. 

Through  the  Norman  arch  on  the  other  side  there  is 
a  glimpse  of  an  old  grey  street,  the  "  High  street "  of 
Pevensey.  Nearly  all  the  houses  in  it  are  weather- 
worn and  ancient,  and  there  is  a  Town  Hall  not  much 
larger  than  a  cottage.  You  pass  through  this  primitive 
street  to  reach  Hurstmonceux,  the  road  winding  round 
to  the  left,  across  a  low  marsh,  over  which  the  sea 
washed  a  thousand  years  ago.  "  And  will  again,"  said 
an  old  man  whom  I  saw  mending  the  road,  "though 
maybe  not  in  my  time.  She  will  come  here  again,  I 
tell  ye.  Look  how  she  washes  over  Hastings  and  St. 
Leonard's  now  at  high  tides.  She  will  go  up  to  them 
hills  again  some  day,  though  I  shan't  live  to  see 
her." 

"And  that  is  my  road,  straight  through  the  marsh  ?  " 

"Ay,  that  be  it — 'Orsemonsoo  be  about  five  mile 
and  a  half  You  can't  go  across  the  marsh,  because 
you  see  the  water's  out."  And,  in  truth,  the  ditches 
were  like  little  rivers,  and  the  fields  resembled  swamps. 


54  Field  Paths  and  Green  Lanes.      ch.  iv. 

"  Do  you  know  what  flower  this  is  ? "  I  held  up  the 
marsh-maxigold,  which  grow  in  profusion  all  over  the 
hedges. 

"Not  I — I  know  naun  about  flowers." 

"  Have  you  heard  the  cuckoo  yet  ?  " 

"No,  the  loth  is  cuckoo  day,  and  ye  never  hear'n 
afore."  Now  this  was  the  9th  of  April,  consequently 
a  week  too  soon. 

"Look  out  for  the  finger  postes  as  you  go  along 
— there  be  a  plenty  of  'em  when  you  pass  the  second 
geat." 

The  blackthorn  was  in  blossom,  and  the  words  of  the 
"May  Queen  "  pictured  the  landscape  : 

"  By  the  meadow  trenches  blow  the  faint  sweet  cuckoo-flowers, 
And  the  wild  marsh- marigold  shines  like  fire  in  swamps  and  hollows 
gray.'- 

Yet  three-miles  of  the  marsh  are  enough — I  tried  the 
fields  over  and  ovei  again,  but  the  wet  and  mud  were 
nearly  knee-deep.  At  last  the  road  makes  a  lucky 
dash  out  of  the  marsli,  and  mounts  up  to  Wartling 
Hill,  where  there  is  a  church  by  the  road-side, 
"restored."  Now  as  I  had  no  curiosity  to  cross  the 
devastating  path  of  the  restorer  again  that  day,  I 
passed  on  to  the  loft,  and  presently  came  to  a  "  geat  " 
which  led  into  the  park  of  Hurstmonccux. 

The  park  has  a  bare  and  pillaged  look,  the  fine  trees 
which  were  formerly  its  pride  having  long  since  been 
cut  down  and  sold.  As  you  go  over  the  brow  of  the  hill, 
glancing  at  Pevenscy  Castle  five  miles  away,  and  ships 
like  specks  on  the  distant  sea,  all  at  once  you  see  the 


AM    ULU    hNuLlSH    1-kUUAL    CASTLE. 
HURSTMONCEUX. 


CH.  IV.  Th7'ee  Castles.  55 

old   castle    just   below   you    in   a    hollow,   grim    and 
solitary,   with    the    little   church   where   Julius   Hare 
preached  so  long,  and  of  which  John  Sterling  was  once 
the  curate,  on  the  rise  of  the  hill  beyond.     Popular 
opinion   would   doubtless   confirm   Mr.   Lower   in    his 
statement   that  the  castle   is   the   "most   picturesque 
building  in  Sussex,"  yet  I  should  be  inclined  to  award 
the  palm  to  Bodiam,  although  it  is  much  smaller  than 
Hurstmonceux.     The  great  entrance  to  the  latter  is, 
indeed,  far  superior  to  anything  that  Bodiam  has  to 
show,   although   it   is   far   less   picturesque    than   the 
entrance  to  Raglan  Castle,  while  in  extent  it  is  a  mere 
child's  toy  compared  with  the  vast  ruin  at  Caerphilly, 
in  Glamorganshire.     The  few  trees  now  remaining  near 
Hurstmonceux  have  had  their  tops  all  cut  off  by  the 
fierce  gales  of  last  winter — even   the   three   yews  at 
the  side  look  ragged  and  broken  down.     The   castle 
was  once  of  red  brick,  now  grey  with  its  four  hundred 
years  of  wear  and  tear.     An  old  chesnut  towards  the 
road  was  just  beginning  to  show  signs  of  awakening 
from  its  winter's  sleep.     "  It   is   the   forwardest   tree 
about  here,"  said  the  boy  at  the  castle,  "  and  has  the 
biggest  nuts  upon  it."     He  was  munching  a  huge  piece 
of  cake  but  seemed  a  little  overpowered  by  the  lone- 
liness of  the  place.     "  No  one  has  been  here  for  two  or 
three  weeks,"  said  he,  "  and  it  is  terrible  dull.     A  old 
man  who  used  to  keep  the  castle  died  in  a  room  up 
there.    He  lived  here  alone,  and  no  one  knew  anything 
about  it  till  they  broke  into  his  room,  and  found  him 
dead.     I  never  see  anything  all  day  but  them  rooks 


56  Field  Paths  and  Green  Lanes.      <;ii.  iv. 

and  holds''  The  groimd  in  tlie  hollow  was  saturated, 
and  one  had  to  go  splashing  and  slipping  along  very 
cautiously  up  the  hill  to  the  old  church — a  church 
which  has  been  restored  with  reverence  and  care, 
and  therefore  looks  the  better  rather  than  the  worse  for 
the  process. 

It  is  towards  yonder  ancient  yew  that  one  is  naturally 
attracted  first,  partly  because  it  is  so  ancient,  partly  be- 
cause under  it  sleeps  Julius  Charles  Hare,  "  twenty-two 
years  rector  of  this  parish,"  and  his  wife.  Near  to  it 
also  lie  other  members  of  the  Hare  family.  Across 
the  churchyard,  in  a  meadow,  there  is  an  enormous  old 
barn,  one  of  the  largest  in  Sussex,  It  is  evidentl}'^  of 
great  age,  "  older  than  the  castle,"  says  the  clerk  of  the 
church,  although  there  may  be  no  satisfactory  proof  of 
that.  In  another  part  of  this  quiet  churchyard,  there 
are  twenty-six  gravestones  in  rows,  evidently  bearing 
record  to  the  memory  of  one  fomily.  The  name  on 
them  wn-s  that  of  Pursglove — "  once,"  said  the  clerk, 
"  the  Pursgloves  were  well  known  here  ;  and  they  are 
all  gone.  They  were  farmers,  and  all  of  them  were 
dissenters.  Wc  have  no  Pursgloves  in  this  part  of 
Sussex  now."  Then  he  showed  me  the  graves  of  three 
other  families,  once  well  known  in  the  parish,  now 
extinct  there,  although  members  of  them  may  still  be 
found  on  the  sheep  farms  of  Australia,  or  the  ranches  of 
the  Great  West. 

Inside  the  church,  the  flowers  which  had  been  used 
for  the  Easter  decorations  were  still  on  tlie  walls  and 
pillars, — primroses,  daisies,  heart's-ease,  daffodils,  and 


Thi'ce  Castles.  57 


other  simple  but  beautiful  flowers  of  rural  England,  all 
arranged  with  a  delicacy  and  taste  which  the  most  con- 
summate artist  might  envy.  I  was  so  much  taken  up 
with  them,  as  to  almost  forget  to  look  at  the  monument 
to  old  Lord  Dacre  and  his  son  in  the  chancel,  which  was 
erected  here  in  1533,  or  the  brass  on  the  floor  to  "Wil- 
liam Ffienles,  chevaler."  There  is  no  house  near  the 
church  or  castle,  except  Hurstmonceux  Place,  the  village 
called  Gardner  Street  being  a  mile  and  a  half  distant. 
The  vicarage  is  not  even  in  sight.  As  for  the  "  Place," 
it  was  uninhabited  when  I  was  there,  and  I  strolled 
over  it,  the  workmen  not  objecting.  It  was  built  from 
the  materials  taken  from  the  old  castle  below,  but 
the  modern  builder  was  not  able  to  "  convey "  the 
ideas  of  his  predecessor  so  easily  as  the  old  bricks. 
Even  these  bricks  are  covered  with  whitewash,  and  the 
house  is  a  large,  rambling,  ungainly  place,  a  wretched 
mockery  of  the  noble  fabric  which  stands  despoiled 
below.  There  are  no  old  carvings  in  the  rooms,  as 
some  of  the  local  guide  books  would  lead  one  to  suppose. 
From  this  house,  not  half  so  interesting  as  the  great 
barn  near  the  church,  I  pursued  my  walk  to  Gardner 
Street,  and  there  at  the  Woolpack  Inn,  an  old  posting- 
house  on  the  Lewes  Road,  I  managed  to  obtain  without 
difiiculty  the  standing  dish  in  Sussex — eggs  and  bacon. 
The  village  does  a  thriving  trade  with  the  farmers  for 
miles  round,  and  consequently  the  "general  "  shop  is  a 
small  market  in  itself,  and  the  landlord  of  the  Woolpack 
was  fat  and  jolly,  and  there  was  an  air  of  prosperity  all 
over  the  place.     I  hope  it  was  not  the  landlord's  ale 


58  Field  Paths  and  Green  Lanes.       ch.  iv. 

which  had  capsized  two  brick-makers  Avhom  I  after- 
wards passed  on  the  road  to  Hailsham,  lying  dead 
drunk  in  a  ditch.  Was  there  ever  a  greater  curse  to 
any  country  than  drunkenness  is  to  England  ?  Like 
travelling  through  a  land  smitten  with  some  sore 
disease,  wherever  one  goes  its  fatal  blight  rests  upon 
the  people.  But  then,  is  not  the  Chancellor  of  the 
Exchequer  able  to  report,  year  after  year,  that  the 
revenue  from  the  Excise  has  exceeded  his  estimates? 

Hailsham  is  a  quiet  town,  with  an  old  and  pleasant 
church  in  it,  and  the  door  being  open  of  course  I  went 
in,  for  how  can  one  pass  by  an  old  church  unvisited  ? 
On  the  north  wall  I  was  struck  with  a  tablet  to  the 
memory  of  "  Colonel  Philip  Van  Cortlandt,  a  retired 
royalist  officer  of  the  American  War,  died  at  Hailsham, 
May,  1814,  aged  74."  The  Van  Cortlandts  are  still  a 
large  and  widely-spread  family  in  the  United  States, 
but  doubtless  this  old  royalist  officer  found  the  repose  of 
Hailsham  more  to  be  preferred,  after  the  stormy  period 
of  the  Revolution,  than  the  homestead  of  his  kinsfolk 
across  the  seas. 

And  what  are  the  distances  of  these  places  one  from 
the  other  ?  The  best  of  the  local  guide  books  says 
that  Hurstmonceux  is  *l\  miles  from  Pevensey  station. 
Murray  puts  it  at  ^\.  In  all  such  cases,  I  have  invari- 
ably found  Murray  right,  and  so  it  proved  in  thi.'^  case, 
for  according  to  my  pedometer,  which  is  never  far  out, 
the  distance  is  5|  miles  to.a  yard  or  two.  From  Hurst- 
monceux to  Gardner  Street,  is  a  mile  and  a  half,  and 
thence  to  Hailsham  four  miles — eleven  miles  altogether. 


TJu^ee  Castles.  59 


enough  and  yet  not  too  much  for  any  man,  who  would 
rather  any  day  tramp  along  the  road,  admiring  the 
fields  and  flowers,  and  picking  up  odd  characters,  than 
ride  in  the  finest  carriage  ever  seen  in  Hyde  Park. 

Bodiam  is  decidedly  a  "  prettier "  ruin  than  Hurst- 
monceux — its  moat  alone,  still  as  complete  as  when 
the  castle  was  built  in  1386,  would  render  it  more 
attractive  to  the  sketcher  than  its  grander  rival  in 
Sussex.  A  special  journey  must  of  course  be  made  to 
the  ancient  seat  of  the  Earls  of  Eu  and  the  De  Bodiams 
— if  from  Hastings,  there  is  a  long  but  interesting  walk 
or  drive  of  fourteen  miles  through  Northiam  and 
Brede  ;  if  by  a  more  direct  route,  from  Robertsbridge 
Station  on  the  South  Eastern  railroad.  The  distance 
by  field-patlr  from  Robertsbridge,  is  not  more  than 
three  and  a  half  miles,  following  the  Rother  all  the 
way.  By  road,  it  is  over  five  miles,  although  the  men- 
dacious finger-posts  say  three  and  a  half  from  the 
turnpike  gate.  But  after  walking  a  full  half  mile  from 
the  'pike,  the  traveller  will  see  another  finger-post, 
stating  that  the  distance  is  still  three  and  a  half  miles, 
which  will  be  sufficient  to  open  his  eyes  to  the  untrust- 
worthiness  of  these  false  guides  by  the  roadside.  The 
path  through  the  fields  is  quite  impracticable  during 
the  winter  and  spring,  if  there  has  been  much  rain. 
The  Rother  soon  overflows  its  banks,  and  the  meadows 
are  covered  ;  and  indeed  in  April,  1877,  the  scene  which 
was  presented  through  all  this  part  of  the  country  was 
most  melancholy.  Farming  operations  were  out  of 
the  question  ;  rain  had  fallen  ever  since  the  previous 


6o  Field  Paths  and  Green  Lanes.      cn.  iv. 

November,  with  scarcely  an  intermission  of  two  days 
together  at  any  one  time ;  and  the  seed  which  had  been 
sown  was  either  washed  out  into  the  roads  and  drains, 
or  lay  rotting  in  the  water.  I  do  not  like  to  say  that 
the  English  climate  has  a  fault — but  if  it  has,  excessive 
dryness  of  the  atmosphere  is  not  the  one. 

A  little  way  on  the  road  to  Bodiam  I  came  to  a 
church  with  a  grand  old  tower,  commanding  all  the 
road.  Men  must  have  cared  something  for  their 
religion,  when  they  built  such  a  church  as  this  in  the 
midst  of  a  small  community.  The  name,  of  the  place 
is  Salehurst,  and  its  church  alone  would  amply  justify 
every  Salehurst  man  in  holding  his  head  high  in  the 
world.  If  we  had  to  build  a  church  at  Salehurst  now, 
what  sort  of  a  thing  would  it  be  ?  We  all  know — let 
us  not  dwell  too  minutely  on  the  painful  picture.  Here, 
too,  the  restorer  has  been  at  work,  and  that  work  is  of 
the  worst  kind — even  the  old  tower  has  been  stuccoed 
all  over,  and  the  stucco  has  peeled  off,  leaving  the 
stones,  which  have  stood  there  for  centuries,  still  far 
better  able  to  defy  wind  and  weather  than  our  odious 
shoddy  work  of  the  present  day.  A  fine  spacious 
church  is  this  within,  with  Early  English  arches,  and 
several  slabs  near  the  door  to  the  memory  of  a  family 
named  Peckham,  varying  in  date  from  1G79  to  1805. 
Just  outside  is  a  very  quaint  thatched  roadside  inn, 
with  the  sign  of  "  The  Old  Eight  Bells,"— bells  which  I 
fear  are  more  in  favour  in  these  tippling  days  than 
those  of  the  parish  church. 

"Where  does  the  clerk  live,"  I  asked  one  of  the 


CH.  IV.  Three  Castles.  6 1 


younger  inhabitants  of  Salehurst,  who  had  just  been 
refining  the  family  jug  with  bad  ale. 

"At  whoam,"  said   he.     This  was  encouraging,  but 
indefinite. 

"  And  where  is  his  home  \  " 

"  Down  theer,"  pointing  vaguely  all  across  the  horizon. 

"  Where  are  the  keys  of  the  church  ?  " 

"Don't  knoaw." 

"  What  will  you  do  with  twopence  if  I  give  it  to  you?" 

"Don't  knoaw."     But  he  manifested  a  hearty  desire 
to  find  out. 

It  is  a  very  charming  walk  from  here  to  Bodiam — 
not  following  the  finger-posts  in  their  deceptive  direc- 
tions, but  turning  to  the  right  wherever  a  turning  has 
to  be  made.  Then  the  road  winds  through  some  of  the 
loveliest  lanes  in  Sussex,  deep  in  ferns  and  wild  flowers. 
Before  going  far  from  that  old  church  of  Salehurst,  I 
made  up,  according  to  custom,  a  morning  bouquet  for 
the  buttonhole,  which,  when  made,  I  consider  worth  a 
dozen  of  the  kind  for  which  they  have  the  conscience 
to  charge  me  a  shilling  in  Piccadilly.  To-day  the 
flowers  offering  themselves  for  selection  were  the  prim- 
rose, the  wild  violet,  and  the  cuckoo-flower,  the  "  lady- 
smock  all  silver  white."  Perhaps  some  people  will  say 
that  they  would  have  preferred  a  few  azaleas  and 
caraelias  from  the  conservatory,  and  why  should  they 
not  ?  Let  them  have  their  own  way,  and  welcome,  so 
long  as  I  may  continue  to  have  mine. 

When  the  road  comes  out  at  the  finger-post  which 
says  go  to  the  left,  then  go  to  the  right ;  do  it  every 


62  Field  Paths  and  Great  Lanes.      en.  iv. 

time.  At  last  you  will  come  to  the  "Junction  Inn," 
and  a  mile  beyond  that  is  the  school  house  of  Bodiam,  at 
which  you  must  buy  for  sixpence  a  ticket  to  see  the  castle. 
Just  opposite  the  school  is  a  stile  going  into  a  field — 
cross  it,,  and  go  down  the  field,  and  you  will  presently 
come  out  pretty  much  as  at  Hurstmonccux,  with  the 
old  castle  beneath  you,  the  rooks  making  a  great  fuss 
round  about  it,  and  the  green  leaves  of  the  water- 
lilies  half  covering  the  moat.  A  veritable  castle,  as 
seen  a  little  way  off;  only  when  you  cross  the  draw- 
bridge, and  pass  under  the  gateway,  do  you  find  that  it 
is  roofless  and  dilapidated,  traces  of  its  inner  arrange- 
ments being  almost  gone.  But  there  it  is,  a  castle  still 
— to  enter  it  we  have  to  cross  a  real  moat,  and  we  almost 
expect  to  hear  the  warder's  challenge  and  the  draw- 
bridge rattling  up.  A  pleasant  castle  for  a  picnic,  for 
it  is  thoroughly  secluded,  and  there  are  all  sorts  of  turf- 
covered  nooks  and  corners  in  it.  But  the  picnic  party 
should  not  be  very  large — not  larger  than  two,  I  think. 

At  the  little  red  cottage  on  the  slope  the  keys  are 
kept.  Thither  I  repaired,  the  first  visitor  since  Easter 
Monday. 

"  I  will  go  and  open  the  gate,"  said  the  old  lady. 

"No,  let  me  go,"  said  her  daughter,  who  had  just  cut 
me  some  bread  and  butter  and  given  me  a  glass  of 
milk.  And  very  nicely  she  had  cut  the  bread  and 
butter,  for  there  is  an  art  in  that  as  there  is  in  most 
other  things. 

"  Be  sure  you  put  on  the  clogs,"  cried  the  mother, 
and  no  wonder,  for  all  the  field  was  soaking  wet. 


Three  Castles.  6 


J 


Forward  tripped  the  girl,  and  I  followed,  she  with 
clo2S,  and  I  without  clofrs.  She  was  a  buxom  lassie 
with  bright  rosy  cheeks.  Her  eyes  were  grey  and 
clear,  and  a  laugh  was  hiding  in  the  corners  of  them. 

"  This  must  seem  a  lonely  place  for  one  to  live  in," 
said  I. 

"  Yes." 

"  Especially  if  one  happens  to  be  a  pretty  girl." 

"Oh,  I  get  used  to  that." 

"  What,  to  being  pretty  ? " 

"Oh,  no,  (laughing)  that  is  all  nonsense." 

"Is  it  ?  I  do  not  think  so." 

"  Dear  me,"  said  the  damsel,  "  I've  dropped  the  key." 

"So  you  have — but  here  it  is,  and  I  declare  your 
cheeks  are  rosier  than  ever." 

"  You  are  a  funny  gentleman." 

"  No,  I  am  a  serious  gentleman.  And  now  which 
way  shall  I  go  ?  " 

"  You  can  go  wherever  you  please,  sir,"  said  the 
maiden,  looking  down. 


CHAPTER    V. 

MAYFIEJ.D. 

Ancient  Sussex.— The  Home  of  Legend  and  Fable.— St.  Dunstan's 
Fight  with  the  Evil  One.— The  Saered  Tongs.— A  Field  Path 
to  Mayfield.  — The  Blacksmith's  Forge.- An  Old-Fashioned 
Inn.— Mayfield  Church.— Iron  Slabs  of  Sussex  Work. — The 
Restorer  Again.— The  Frotestant  Martyrs. — The  IJoman  Catholic 
"Revival." — Mayfield  Palace. — The  Chapel  and  Pelics. — The 
Old  Houses  of  Mayfield.— Kotherfield  and  the  V/'ay  Back. 

Mayfield  is  one  of  the  haunted  i^laces  of  Sussex. 
Many  are  the  signs  and  wonders  which  have  been 
seen  there.  Ghosts  are  still  said  to  appear  in  some 
of  the  old  houses  in  the  neighbourhood,  and  the 
stranger  is  half  incliiied  to  believe  that  the  ancient 
forge  at  the  entrance  to  the  village  is  the  very  one 
in  or  near  which  St,  Dunstan  performed  his  famous 
miracle.  It  is  well  known,  and  it  would  be  heresy  to 
question  it,  that  the  saint  was  at  work  beating  out 
hot  iron,  when  he  became  aware  that  the  Father  of  Evil 
was  standing  by  his  side.  With  admirable  presence 
of  mind,  the  saint  seized  his  wily  visitor  by  the 
nose  with  a  big  pair  of  pincers,  but  "Auld  Nickie 
Ben  "  was  equally  fertile  in  Resources,  and  flew  away 
with  the  whole  concern  —  pincers,  saint,  and  all. 
The  saint  held  fast,  and  a  terrific  combat  shook  the 


CH.  V.  May  field.  65 

valley.  At  last  the  fiend  got  loose,  more's  the  pity, 
and  cleared  the  nine  miles  between  himself  and 
Tunbridge  Wells  at  one  leap.  There  he  plunged  into 
the  waters  to  cool  his  nose,  and  thus  imparted  to  the 
springs  that  flavour  of  iron  which  the  visitor  may  taste 
to  this  very  day.  That  is  one  proof  of  the  truth  of 
the  story,  and  if  you  want  another,  the  identical  pair 
of  tongs  or  pincers  with  which  St.  Dunstan  greeted 
the  demon  may  still  be  seen  in  the  "  Palace "  at 
Mayfield,  now  a  nunnery.  One  of  the  sisters  showed 
them  to  me  only  a  few  weeks  ago  ;  how  could  I  doubt 
any  longer  ?  The  iron  is  worn  with  time,  and  seems 
still  to  bear  traces  of  the  desperate  struggle  of  nine 
hundred  years  ago,  for  it  is  nearly  as  long  as  that  since 
St.  Dunstan  lived  at  Mayfield. 

"  These  are  the  tongs  with  which  St.  Dunstan  worked 
his  miracle,"  said  the  worthy  sister. 

"I  have  read  of  the  legend  in  my  book,"  said  I, 
meaning  no  offence. 

"  It  is  not  a  legend,"  replied  the  sister  in  a  tone  of 
slight  reproof. 

"  No,  no,"  said  I,  "  I  did  not  mean  to  throw  any 
doubt  upon  the  story." 

How  could  one  wsh  to  wage  a  controversy  with  this 
good  sister,  whom  I  had  heard  a  few  minutes  before 
instructing  the  muddle-headed  boys  and  girls  of  the 
village  in  religious  truths  ?  She  was  teaching  them 
about  the  soul,  and  one  of  the  pupils  persisted  in 
calling  it  so',  nor  could  the  patient  teacher  prevail 
upon  him  to  add  the  other  two  letters.     If  she  chooses 


66  Field  Paths  and  Green  Lanes.       en.  v. 

to  believe  in  the  tongs,  why  not  ?  Certain  it  is  that 
they  arc  mucli  notched  at  the  end,  and  how  could  that 
be  unless  a  nose,  or  some  other  very  hard  substance, 
had  been  held  between  them  ? 

You  could  scarcely  find  a  more  interesting  specimen 
of  ancient  Sussex  than  Mayfield,  entirely  untouched 
as  it  is  by  that  bane  of  England,  the  speculative 
builder,  and  unintruded  upon  still  by  railroads  or 
other  devices  which  lend  a  charm  to  modern  life. 
The  nearest  railroad  station  is  Ticehurst  Road,  and 
that  is  five  miles  off.  From  thence  there  is  a  walk 
which  those  who  love  the  old  parts  of  Old  Eng- 
land will  do  well  to  take.  On  leaving  the  station 
turn  to  the  left  over  the  railroad  bridge,  and  go  up 
the  road  till  you  come  to  a  cottage  on  the  right. 
Turn  in  at  a  gate  there,  and  make  your  way  by  a 
field-path,  past  a  very  old  farmhouse  and  a  mill- 
stream,  for  nearly  a  mile,  when  the  path  will  be 
found  to  end  at  the  turnpike  road.  Cross  the  road, 
and  go  over  the  stile,  and  continue  across  the  fields 
for  some  distance,  till  at  last  the  turnpike  road  cuts  it 
off.  By  this  path  fully  a  mile  is  saved,  a  long  and 
dusty  mile,  nearly  all  up  hill.  To  this  field-path  I 
had  no  clue  on  my  first  visit,  and  only  discovered  it 
by  mere  accident  the  second  time  I  made  the  journey. 
The  turnpike  road  goes  doubling  round  and  round  in 
a  provoking  manner,  but  in  spring-time  it  is  literally 
lined  all  the  way  with  wild  flowers.  The  violets, 
primroses,  wild  anemones,  and  forget-me-nots,  are  so 
abundant  that  the  journey  seems  to  be  merely  through 


CH.  V,  Mayfield.  67 

one  long  garden.  Then  you  come  to  an  ugly  red 
building  (new,  of  course),  and  afterwards  to  a 
comfortable  farm-house  of  the  old  style,  and  not  far 
from  that  you  see  Mayfield  in  front  of  you  on  a  hill. 
But  although  it  looks  near,  it  is  in  reality  some  dis- 
tance off,  and  the  more  you  walk,  the  further  oflf  it 
seems  to  get.  It  is  a  long  five  miles  by  the  road,  and 
about  four  by  the  field-path  and  road  combined. 

An  old  yew-tree  stands  appropriately  at  the  entrance 
to  the  village,  near  the  blacksmith's  forge.  Here,  you 
will  think,  is  your  journey's  end,  but  it  is  not  so,  for 
Mayfield  itself  still  eludes  you,  and  when  you  turn 
the  corner  it  seems  to  have  entirely  disappeared,  as  if 
St.  Dunstan's  visitor  had  suddenly  returned  while  you 
were  mounting  the  last  hill,  and  flown  away  with  the 
whole  of  it.  Up  a  long  and  steep  street  you  plod 
along,  more  or  less  tired — and  these  Sussex  roads  will 
punish  the  strongest  pedestrian — and  at  last  you  come 
to  some  houses  which  time  seems  to  have  overlooked, 
and  then  to  the  inn  called  the  Star,  where  there  is 
accommodation  to  be  had  far  superior  to  that  which 
I  have  found  in  many  a  grand  hotel.  The  butcher 
below  sells  good  mutton ;  the  landlord  has  good 
bread  and  butter  and  excellent  ale,  and  a  clean  table 
cloth,  and  a  comfortable  .bed-room,  if  you  want  a 
night's  rest  withal.  What  more  does  any  man  seek  ? 
When  I  sit  and  eat  my  luncheon  in  the  old  kitchen 
(a  comfortable  room  in  winter  or  spring)  an  im- 
measurable distance  is  between  me  and  the  troubles 
of  life.     The   great   wave   cannot  come  foaming  and 


68  Field  Paths  and  Green  Lanes.        ch.  v. 

tumbling  into  this  secure  harbour.  The  old  fireplace 
lias  a  large  armchair  in  it,  quite  out  of  sight,  and  I 
suppose  there  must  be  a  big  cupboard  somewhere  or 
other  in  the  vast  recess,  for  I  notice  that  the  landlord's 
daughter  disappears  bodily  in  the  fireplace  from  time 
to  time,  and  comes  out  again  none  the  worse.  It  is 
a  fireplace  in  which  you  might  almost  hold  a  town- 
meeting,  notwithstanding  the  new  range  and  boiler, 
and  all  the  rest  of  the  "  fixings "  without  which  a 
family  of  the  present  day  cannot  roast  a  leg  of  mutton 
or  boil  a  potato. 

The  church  is  a  far  more  interesting  building  than 
the  accounts  of  it  which  I  had  consulted  led  me  to 
suppose.  It  is  a  large  and  beautiful  edifice,  with  a 
noble  chancel,  in  one  part  of  which  there  is  a  hagio- 
scope, and  a  recess  in  the  wall  for  a  piscina.  Similar 
recesses  exist  in  the  body  of  the  church.  The  pulpit  is 
of  carved  oak,  and  there  are  some  high  pews  near  it 
also  exquisitely  carved — fine  relics  of  a  byegone  age, 
when  artificers  in  wood  were  valued  and  encouraged 
in  England.  These  old  pews  have  thus  far  escaped 
the  restorer,  who  has,  however,  destroyed  the  ancient 
roof,  and  put  up  one  of  his  own  design  instead.  On 
•the  sides  of  the  aisle  the  ancient  free  seats  still  exist, 
all  of  oak  black  with  age.  How  long  they  may  have 
been  there  it  is  impossible  to  say,  perhaps  from  before 
the  time  the  original  church  was  burnt  down  in  1389. 
For  it  is  recorded  that  the  tower,  and  the  lower  portion 
of  the  church,  as  well  as  the  central  window,  escaped  the 
destruction  wdiich  overtook  the  rest  of  the  building.    In 


CH.  V.  Mayfield.  69 

the  nave  and  chantry  are  several  slabs  of  iron,  of  native 
make,  to  the  memories  of  Mayfield  folks  of  the  olden 
time.  The  earliest  of  these  slabs  are  rude  in  shape  and 
lettering — I  noticed  one  bearing  record  to  "Thomas 
Sands,  who  was  buryed  July  the  2()th,  1G68,  aged  72 
years,"  the  figure  7  being  turned  the  wrong  way.  But 
a  great  advance  is  made  in  the  workmanship  of  the 
slab  next  to  it,  which  is  surmounted  by  a  tremendous 
coat-of-arms,  and  ambitiously  ornamented  with  scrolls 
and  borders.  This  also  is  to  g,  member  of  the  Sands 
family,  "citizen  and  wine  cooper  of  London,"  and  is 
dated  1708.  The  two  slabs  nearer  the  communion- 
table bear  date  1GG9  and  1671.  Mayfield  was  once 
the  centre  of  a  great  iron-making  .district,  and  even 
now,  as  the  woman  who  showed  me  the  church  assured 
me,  the  parish  boundaries  are  marked  by  farms  which 
are  named  the  "  Forge,"  and  iron  ore  of  excellent 
quality  is  constantly  found  in  the  neighbourhood.  The 
pedestal  of  the  font  is  apparently  older  than  tlie  upper 
part,  although  that  is  dated  1666.  Monuments  to  the 
Baker  family  are  numerous  in  the  church,  but  of  the 
Bakers  themselves  one  representative  only  is  said  to 
remain.  The  Palace  of  Mayfield  belonged  to  this 
family  from  1617  to  1858.  In  this  as  in  many  other 
parts  of  the  country,  direct  descendants  of  the  old 
families  are  rarely  to  be  found.  The  Cades  once 
flourished  here,  and  Jack  Cade  himself  is  believed  to 
have  come  of  the  stock,  but  there  is  no  one  of  the  name 
hereabouts  in  the  present  day. 

In  the  churchyard  four  martyrs  were  burnt  in  the 


70  Field  Paths  and  Green  Lanes.        ch.  v. 

cause  of  the  Protestant  religion — that  very  religion 
which  now,  to  all  appearance,  is  falling  a  little  out  of 
favour  in  many  quarters.  "The  Roman  Catholics  come 
to  see  this  church  very  often,"  said  the  woman,  "  and 
they  say  it  belonged  to  them  once,  and  they  Avill  have 
it  again."  Perhaps  they  will,  for  no  one  can  tell  wliat 
may  happen  in  this  whirligig  world  ;  at  any  rate  they 
are  making  great  advances  in  all  this  district.  The 
priests  who  have  their  central  point  at  St.  Leonard's 
are  full  of  activity,  energy,  and  "missionary"  enter- 
prise, while  their  Protestant  brethren  are  too  often 
engaged  in  copying  their  outward  forms  and  cere- 
monies, and  trying  to  make  themselves  as  much  like 
them  as  possible,  except  in  this  immense  zeal  for 
adding  new  members  to  their  church.  There  is  a 
convent  at  St.  Leonard's  which  sends  out  men  and 
women  far  and  near,  Avinning  over  "converts"  to  the 
"  old  faith."  One  branch  of  this  convent  is  now  at 
Mayfield,  in  the  ancient  Palace.  A  famous  place  was 
this  Palace  in  its  day ;  the  primates  of  England 
legardcd  it  as  a  favourite  abode,  perhaps  for  the  very 
reason  that  sickly  sisters  are  now  sent  to  it  from  St. 
Leonard's,  on  account  of  the  bracing  quality  of  the  air. 
King  Edward  the  First  visited  it  more  than  once,  and 
long  after  him  Queen  Elizabeth,  and  long  after  her 
again  came  a  monarch  who  will  perhaps  be  remem- 
bered as  long  as  either  of  them.  Queen  Victoria. 
Little  remains  of  the  building  as  it  formerly  stood, 
even  the  great  hall  (built  circa  13o0)  having  been 
restored,  and  turned  into  a  chapel  for  the  sisterhood. 


cii.  V.  Alay field.  7 1 

It  was  the  banqueting  hall  of  the  archbishops,  and  had 
fallen  into  almost  complete  ruin.  The  arches  still 
exist,  and  give  a  noble  appearance  to  the  hall,  now 
fitted  up  with  more  than  ordinary  display  and  pomp. 
Numerous  figures  or  images  surround  the  altar,  and 
lights  are  constantly  burning.  The  sister  who  showed 
me  the  place  took  me  to  the  relics,  and  there  I  saw 
the  tongs  by  which  St.  Dunstan  once  had  a  firm  hold 
of  the  Prince  of  Darkness,  but  unfortunately,  as  I  have 
said,  let  him  go  again.  I  asked  for  the  hammer  of 
which  Mr.  Lower  says,  "  the  hammer,  with  its  solid 
iron  handle,  may  be  mediaeval,"  but  the  sister  said  that 
it  had  disappeared — how  and  when  no  one  knew.  "It 
was  there  (pointing  to  a  corner)  when  we  came  here, 
but  one -day  when  we  looked  for  it,  it  was  gone,  and 
since  then  we  have  never  seen  it  again."  She  showed 
me  an  old  sword  and  an  anvil,  and  who  knows  but  that 
the  anvil  was  the  very  one  on  which  St.  Dunstan 
was  at  work  when  the  enemy  of  mankind  appeared  to 
him? 

Church  and  Palace  are  no  doubt  the  lions  of  May- 
field,  but  there  is  a  great  curiosity  which  will  strike 
the  visitor  with  astonishment  and  admiration  as  soon 
as  he  enters  the  town,  and  that  is  a  timbered  house 
with  the  date  of  1575  upon  it.  "  It  is  one  of  the  most 
curious  timber  houses  in  Sussex,"  says  Mr.  Lower,  and 
it  is  certainly  one  of  the  most  beautiful  houses  I  have 
seen  anywhere — quite  perfect  from  top  to  bottom,  the 
carvings  and  decorations  being  wonderfully  well 
preserved,  although  I  notice  some  differences  between 


"ji  Field  Paths  and  Green  Lanes.        ch.  v. 

the  front  of  the  house  as  it  now  stands  and  the 
engraving  of  it  given  in  the  21st  volume  of  the  "Sussex 
Archa'ological  Collections."  The  timber  work  is  of  a 
more  varied  and  oinamental  character  than  is  repre- 
sented in  the  picture.  The  house  is  worth  going  many 
miles  to  see,  and  there  is  another  of  stone  at  the  lower 
end  of  the  town  equally  curious,  although  not  quite  so 
picturesque.  The  smaller  houses  and  inns  in  any 
other  place  would  be  deemed  remarkable,  so  quaint 
and  old-fashioned  are  they  ;  but  "  Middle  House  "  and 
"  Aylwins  "  eclipse  stars  of  lesser  magnitude. 

Rotherfield,  with  its  beautiful  old  church,  dating 
back  to  the  year  792,  so  says  Mr.  Lower,  is  rather  less 
than  four  miles  distant,  and  a  conveyance  may  be  had 
in  the  town  by  which  the  traveller  may  visit  this 
ancient  parish,  or  drive  round  by  Heathfield  to  Etching- 
ham  (a  lovely  drive,  over  very  high  ground),  or  through 
Frant  to  Tunbridge  Wells,  about  ten  miles.  There  are 
roads  enough  to  May  field,  and  althougli  within  the 
memory  of  many  of  the  inhabit.ants,  these  roads  were 
horrible  to  travel  over  at  the  best  of  seasons,  and 
quite  impassable  in  Avinter,  they  are  now  hard  and 
good,  and  at  almost  every  step  unfold  such  exquisite 
pictures  of  English  scenery  that  it  is  with  sorrow  one 
bids  farewell  to  them. 


CHAPTER    yi. 

ALFRISTON    AND    WILMINGTON. 

Echoes  of  War.— The  Nightingale. — " Happy  England. "—The  South 
Downs. — Alfriston  and  the  "Star"  Inn. — Another  "Resto- 
ration."—  An  Ancient  Vicarage.  —  Content  in  a  Cottage. — 
Wanted,  a  Minister.  —  The  Lone  Man  of  Wilmington.  —  The 
Priory  and  Church. — An  Old  Grave  and  a  New  Tenant. — A  line 
from  the  "Short  and  Simple  Annals  of  the  Poor." — The  South 
Downs  bej'ond  Wilmington. — Where  to  Find  Cowslips. 

Rumours  of  war  had  reached  this  quiet  corner  of  the 
South  Downs  when  I  was  there  on  the  last  day  of 
April.  I  was  watching  a  nightingale,  the  first  of  the 
year,  which  had  just  flown  across  the  road,  and  was 
perched  on  a  hedge  within  a  few  yards  of  me.  Pre- 
sently it  began  to  pour  forth  its  wondrous  song,  and 
although  it  did  not  finish  it,  perhaps  because  it  fancied 
it  was  a  little  too  early  in  the  season,  yet  the  fragment 
with  which  it  was  pleased  to  favour  its  two  listeners — 
namely,  a  poor  hedge-cutter  and  myself — fairly  put  to 
shame  the  thrushes  and  blackbirds  which  had  been 
trying  hard  to  sing  each  other  down.  While  I  was  still 
waiting  in  the  hope  of  hearing  the  rest,  the  hedge- 
cutter  said,  "  Excuse  me  asking  you,  sir,  but  can  you 
tell  me  whether  there  is  war  ?  " 

"  There  is,  between  Turkey  and  Russia." 


74  Field  Paths  and  Grcai  Lanes.       en.  vi. 

"But  are  wc  iu  it  ?" 

"  Not  yet." 

"  Ah,  sir,  they  will  never  come  here — England  is  safe. 
And  if  they  did  come,  I  reckon  they  would  soon  be  glad 
to  get  away  again.     We  are  too  much  for  'em  all." 

Tliat  was  how  the  gYeat  "Eastern  Question"  presented 
itself  to  his  mind.  Confidence  is  an  excellent  thing, 
especially  when  it  is  not  pushed  too  far.  "  I  see  you 
a-listenin'  to  the  nightingale,"  said  the  hedge-cutter, 
"  it  be  a  good  bird  for  singin'  like.  I  heard  one  for  the 
first  time  three  days  ago.  As  you  go  up  the  road 
mebbe  you'll  hear  two  or  three." 

With  or  without  niohtinsrales,  one  mioht  well  be  clad 
at  any  time  to  Avalk  a  few  miles  on  such  a  road  as  this. 
I  had  started  from  Berwick  Station  and  turned  my  face 
straight  towards  the  South  Downs,  that  beautiful  ridge 
of  hills  which,  to  the  eye  of  Gilbert  White,  seemed  a 
"  majestic  chain  of  mountains,"  and  which,  in  good 
earnest,  appear  much  higher  than  they  really  are  when 
you  are  upon  them,  so  vast  is  the  sweep  of  the  view 
they  afford  over  land  and  sea.  Beneath  these  noble  hills 
there  are  still  villages  to  be  found  which  are  almost  as 
they  were  three  or  four  luuulred  years  ago,  and  towards 
one  of  them  I  was  bending  my  steps — to  Alfriston,  the 
"  Aluriceston"  of  Domesday  Book,  a  parish  in  which  there 
arc  more  British  and  Roman  barrows  to  be  seen  to-day 
than  new  houses.  At  every  stage  of  the  road  there  are 
abundant  signs  that  you  are  travelling  in  an  old  country. 
The  farm  houses  and  barns  have  never  known  the  hand 
of  the  modern  builder.     And  when,  about  two-and-a-half 


en.  VI.         Alfriston  and  Wilmington.  75 

miles  from  the  station,  you  come  to  the  village,  and  see 
the  ancient  up-hill  street,  with  the  long  sloping  roofs  of 
the  houses,  aod  the  remains  of  the  market  cross,  which 
may  have  stood  there  five  hundred  years  or  more,  it  is 
difficult  to  realise  that  one  is  living  in  commercial 
England,  in  the  midst  of  a  driving  and  pushing  age. 
About  half-way  up  the  street  there  is  an  inn  which  will 
gladden  the  heart  of  any  man  who  takes  an  interest  in 
the  traces  which  are  still  allowed  to  exist  of  the  old 
times  in  England.  This  inn  is  called  the  "  Star,"  and 
it  must  have  been  standing  here  at  least  three  hundred 
and  fifty  years,  with  no  great  change  inside  or  out. 
At  each  side  of  the  door,  and  along  the  front  of  the 
house,  there  are  carved  figures,  one  of  St.  Julian  the 
friend  of  travellers,  another  of  a  priest,  a  St.  George 
waging  a  gallant  fight  with  the  dragon,  two  animals 
supporting  a  staff,  and  other  figures  or  devices  which 
are  more  delightful  to  look  upon  than  all  the  pictures 
in  the  Royal  Academy  put  together.  At  one  corner  of 
the  house  there  is  a  rude  figure  of  a  lion  leaning  against 
the  wall,  but  this  is  only  the  figure-head  of  a  vessel 
which  was  wrecked  on  the  coast  some  time  last  century. 
All  the  rest  is  old,  from  the  roof  which  is  half  sunken 
in  wdth  age,  to  the  bow  windows  with  their  small  panes 
of  glass,  and  the  narrow  doorway  guarded  by  St.  Julian 
and,  as  some  suppose,  St.  Giles.  Alfriston  is  believed 
to  have  been  formerly  a  much  larger  place  than  it  now 
is,  and  Mr.  Lower  thinks  that  the  Star  Inn  was  "  a 
house  of  call  for  pilgrims  and  the  clergy  who  were 
wending  their  way  to  the  tomb  of  St.  Richard  and  the 


76  Field  Paths  and  Green  Lanes.      cu.  vi. 

Episcopal  See."  So  the  house  liaJ  a  somewhat  religious 
character,  and  ornaments  were  adopted  which  "  appear 
at  first  sight  rather  incongruous  with  the  objects  of  a 
road-side  inn."  However  this  may  be,  the  figures  are 
well  worthy  the  notice  of  the  modern  pilgrim,  who  will 
find  few  such  ancient  hostelries  as  this  left  in  merry 
England,  although  ho  will  come  in  the  way  of  plenty 
of  abominable  "gin  palaces  "  and  flaring  bar-rooms. 

While  seated  in  the  little  parlour  of  the  "  Star,"  at 
an  enormous  distance,  as  it  seemed,  from  the  world  of 
the  present  day — railroads,  telegraphs,  newspapers, 
being  all  like  some  dim  recollection  of  a  disturbed  dream 
— I  noticed  a  circular  upon  the  wall,  with  an  engraving 
of  the  old  church  above  it.  In  this  I  read,  with  great 
sinking  of  the  heart,  that  progress  to  a  most  alarming 
extent  had  been  made  with  the  work  of  "restoring"  the 
church — that  wooden  seats  had  been  put  in,  "  cut  from 
the  old  large  timbers  of  the  south  transept  interior 
roof,"  a  new  east  window  made,  and  the  chancel  windows 
repaired.  This  was  sad  news,  and  when,  after  diligent 
search,  I  found  the  old  woman  who  had  the  keys,  and 
we  entered  the  church,  my  worst  anticipations  were 
confirmed.  Three  parts  of  the  edifice  had  been  made 
to  look  spick  and  span  new — the  other  part  remains  in 
its  old  state,  simply  because  the  funds  have  been  ex- 
hausted. The  famous  east  window  is  new;  it  all  looks 
like  a  lecture  hall  just  finished.  Would  it  not  have 
answered  every  good  purpose  to  have  mended  the  roof, 
so  as  to  keep  out  the  wet,  and  "repair"  rather  than 
"  restore  "  the  other  parts  of  the  building  ? 


cii.  VI.  AlfiHsion  and  Wiliuington.  yj 

"  We  liked  the  old  church  best,  sir,"  said  the  woman, 
who  was  wheezing  away  dismally.  "  This  don't  seem  to 
us  as  if  it  were  the  same  church  like.  See,  yonder  is 
the  old  house  where  they  say  the  vicars  used  to  live — I 
would  come  and  show  you,  but  my  chest  ^ives  out." 
"  Gives  out " — a  true  Americanism  if  there  ever  was  one. 

The  old  house,  at  least,  was  uninjured — a  simple 
timbered  cottage,  or,  as  one  may  read,  "  an  ancient 
vicarage  of  post  and  panel,  a  specimen  of  the  lowly 
abodes  with  which  our  pre-Reformation  clergy  often 
contented  themselves."  As  I  stood  looking  at  this 
house,  and  thinking  that  old  as  it  was  I  would  rather 
have  it  than  many  a  new  one  I  had  seen,  an  old 
woman  came  to  the  door  and  I  wished  her  good  morning. 
Presently  she  asked  me  if  I  would  please  to  step  in  and 
sit  down. 

It  was  a  low  ceilinged  room,  that  parlour  of  hers, 
with  an  immense  fire-place  in  it,  in  which  she  had  got 
her  arm-chair  and  foot-stool,  and  other  little  comforts. 

We  ha'  no  minister  here  now,"  said  she,  after  we  had 
talked  a  bit,  "and  of  course  Ave  miss  'un  a  good  deal.  I 
wish  we  had  e'er  a  one  to  come  and  sit  and  read  a  little 
to  a  body.     Three  have  died  here  the  last  few  years." 

"  How  do  you  manage  to  kill  them  off  so  fast  ? "  I 
asked. 

"Oh,"  said  the  old  lady  very  seriously,  "  it  aint  us  as 
kills  'em  off;  they  are  worn  out  when  they  do  come. 
That's  the  reason  of  it,  sir.  The  last  one  as  was  here 
was  a  nice  old  gentleman,  but  his  breath  was  bad,  and 
so  he  could  not  get  about  much.     We  want  a  young 


78  Field  Paths  and  Green  Lanes.       en.  vr. 

man,  if  so  be  as  we  could  get  one,  and  I  sliould  not 
care  how  poor  he  was." 

"  The  churchwarden  told  me,"  she  went  on,  "  this  very 
marning  that  he  was  goin'  to  write  to  the  Lord  Chancery 
or  something  and  try  to  get  us  a  minister,  and  I  hope 
he  will,  for  it  is  bad  to  be  without  one.  A  gentleman 
comes  over  from  Eastbourne,  bat  I  can't  understand 
what  he  do  say.     Perhaps  it  is  because  I  am  old." 

"  How  old  are  you  ?  " 

"  I  am  seventy-seven,  sir." 

"And  live  here  all  alone  ?  " 

"Oh,  yes  ;  I  have  only  two  children  myself,  but  how 
many  they  have  I  really  do  not  know.  I  have  the 
rheumatism  very  bad,  all  down  my  side.  No,  sir,  it  is 
not  this  old  house  as  gives  it  to  me,  and  I  could  not 
bear  to  leave  it  now.  I  have  lived  in  it  a-many  years. 
I  want  for  nothing,  sir,  for  God  is  good  to  me," 

"And  so  this  is  the  house  where  the  minister  used  to 
live  in  old  times." 

"  Yes,  sir ;  I  have  heard  say  that  the  Popes  of  Rome 
did  vise  to  live  here."  What  on  earth  could  have  put 
that  notion  in  the  old  lady's  head  ?  It  fairly  took  my 
breath  away. 

"  I  do  wish,  sir,"  she  continued,  "  that  we  could  get  a 
minister  here,  but  no  one  seems  to  want  to  come.  The 
place  be  too  poor,  I  suppose.  Oh,  no,  sir,  I  am  not 
afraid  to  live  here  alone.  God  is  good  to  me,  sir,  and  I 
am  very  thankful." 

She  repeated  these  words  very  earnestly.  No  doubt 
there  are  some  who  would  have  gone  into  that  room, 


Alfriston  and  Wilmington.  79 


and  looked  round,  and  seen  very  little  for  anybody  to 
be  thankful  for ;  but  it  is  not  always  those  who  have  all 
the  good  things  of  this  life  who  are  the  most  grateful 
for  what  they  get. 

"  I  am  very  glad  you  are  comfortable,"  said  I,  as  I 
turned  to  go  away.  "  From  what  I  can  see  in  this  world, 
those  who  believe  as  you  do  seldom  come  to  much  harm." 

"  They  do  not,  sir,  for  if  you  trust  in  God  he  never 
deserts  you,  sir  ;  no  never." 

The  landscape  was  rather  blurred  to  my  eyes  when  I 
left  that  little  room.  No  doubt  some  profound  philoso- 
pher, who  has  discovered  all  the  secrets  of  the  universe, 
could  explain  to  this  poor  old  woman  that  she  was  the 
victim  of  an  exploded  delusion,  and  that  in  fact  there 
is  no  God  but  "  matter,"  and  therefore  nothing  for  any 
human  being  to  trust  in.  He  might  also  propose 
to  her  several  infallible  tests — prayer-tests  and  the  like 
— by  which  she  could  ascertain  for  herself  that  matter 
was  the  be-all  and  the  end-all ;  but  what  if  she  took  the 
test  of  her  own  daily  experience  and  life,  and  found  that 
conclusive  ?  No  doubt  the  philosopher  would  have  to 
give  her  up  as  beyond  the  reach  of  reason — one  of  those 
besotted  "  lower  classes  "  for  whom  nothing  can  be  done. 

Through  the  meadow  at  the  side  of  the  church,  and 
across  the  little  bridge  over  the  "  Eiver  Cuckmere  " — a 
river  about  as  wide  as  a  lady's  ribbon — there  is  a  foot- 
path to  Wilmington,  under  the  very  shadow  of  the  Downs. 
Or  the  visitor  may  turn  to  the  Downs  at  once,  and 
mount  to  Firle's  Beacon,  and  make  his  way  over  the 
top  to  Lewes — a  distance  of  nine  miles  or  so ;  or  he 


8o  Field  Paths  and  Green  Lanes.       ch.  vi. 

may  go  over  the  hills  in  the  opposite  direction  to  East- 
bourne. But  I  went  towards  Wilmin^jton,  after  a 
glance  over  the  training  stables  which  are  at  Alfris- 
ton,  across  that  ancient  street  known  as  "]\Iilton 
Street,"  where  there  are  two  or  three  of  the  oldest  and 
quaintest  cottages  and  barns  in  all  Sussex.  A  stranger 
does  not  often  find  liis  Avay  into  this  solitary,  yet 
beautiful,  region.  Wandering  on  over  the  path  which 
looks  like  a  thread  amid  a  vast  field  of  young  green 
wheat,  one's  eye  is  caught  by  a  colossal  figure  of  a  man 
on  the  side  of  the  Downs  close  by — tlie  Father  of  Giants, 
with  each  hand  closing  on  a  huge  staff,  a  strange  wild 
figure,  upwards  of  240  feet  in  length.  How  came  it 
there  ?  It  is  thought  that  the  monks  of  Wilmington 
cut  it  in  the  chalk,  in  the  days  when  a  priory  existed 
here,  a  priory  which  was  founded  in  the  reign  of 
William  Rufus ;  but  the  country  folk  hold  that  the 
fairies  made  it.  For  the  fairies  are  still  believed  to 
have  their  homes  in  these  Do^wt^s,  and  many  a  large 
"ring"  or  "hag-track"  may  be  seen  in  lonely  spots,  and 
strange  figures  cut  out  on  the  grass.  I  have  often  stood 
before  them  wondering  how  they  were  made,  and  who 
made  them  :  no  one  knows ;  but  certain  it  is,  that  any- 
body who  rambles  about  these  lovely  Downs  will  see 
many  strange  things  and  hear  strange  sounds. 

A  wonderful  old  place  is  Wilmington,  or  "  Wineltone" 
as  it  was  called  before  the  Normans  came  over  here,  in 
the  days  when  it  was  held  by  the  great  Earl  Godwin, 
King  Harold's  father ;  a  village  with  part  of  its  old 
priory  gate  still  standing,  and  a  farm-house  made  out  of 


cH.  VI.  Alfristou  and  IVihniugtoii.  8i 

the  monks'  former  home,  and  a  church  so  old  that  one 
gives  up  trying  to  find  out  the  exact  date  of  it.  It 
is  i)riniitive  enougli  in  construction,  for  some  of  tlie 
windows  and  doors  are  cut  out  of  tlie  chalk.  On  the 
west  wall,  outside,  I  saw  a  grotesque  figure,  with  its 
knees  doubled  up  nearly  to  its  chin,  carved  in  stone  ; 
and  inside  there  is  a  finely  carved  pulpit  with  a  beautiful 
canopy  over  it,  and  chalk  walls  and  arches,  and  ancient 
seats — altogether  one  of  the  plainest,  oldest,  and  least 
"  improved  "  churches  in  England.  In  the  churchyard 
there  is  an  enormous  yew  tree,  of  greait  height  (for  a 
yew)  as  well  as  girth — a  tree  said  to  be  at  least  a 
thousand  years  old.  Its  companions  are  the  dead ;  and 
how  many  must  have  come  to  it  since  first  it  struck  its 
roots  in  this  soil  ! 

As  I  walked  into  the  churchyard  from  the  fields,  I 
saw  a  white  head  appearing  every  now  and  then  from 
an  open  grave,  and  heard  the  dull  thud  of  earth  falling 
as  it  was  thrown  up  by  the  sj^ade.  It  was  the  sexton 
digging  a  grave.  Just  beyond  him  was  that  solemn 
yew  now  about  to  be  joined  by  still  another  companion, 
and  the  venerable  church,  and  the  solitary  ruins,  and 
the  weird  figure  on  the  hill-side  seeming  to  be  watching 
all.  "Ade,  Ade  " — scarcely  any  name  but  this  old 
Sussex  one  of  Ade  on  the  gravestones.  A  large  family, 
and  death  has  reaped  them  nearly  all. 

I  wandered  over  to  the  open  grave.     All  was  silent 

in  this  ancient  and  lonely  churchyard,  save  the  beating 

of  the  mattock  and  the   dull  fall  of  the  earth.     The 

sexton,  like  all  else  around,  was  old;  his  hair  was  white, 
5 


82  Field  PatJis  and  Green  Lanes.       en.  vi. 

and  he  had  a  white  beard.  He  worked  very  slowly^ 
and  as  he  worked  he  threw  liuman  bones  into  the  hill 
which  was  fast  rising  outside  tlie  grave.  It  did  not 
seem  a  real  scene  in  any  way.  I  should  not  hope  to 
persuade  anybody  that  all  was  as  I  saw  it  there  that 
day.  Yet  there  was  the  old  man  in  the  grave,  and  those 
were  bones,  the  bones  of  some  man  or  woman,  which 
he  was  throwing  up  in  every  spadeful  of  earth.  There 
was  a  thigh  bone,  and  the  smaller  bones  of  the  leg,  and 
many  more,  and  the  earth  near  them  had  a  tinge  of 
brown,  like  iron-rust.  It  was  all  very  strange.  •  The 
words  of  Hamlet  rose  up,  unbidden,  to  the  mind  :  "  Did 
these  bones  cost  no  more  the  breeding,  but  to  play  at 
lofrsrats  with  'em  ?     Mine  ache  to  think  on't." 

"  These  are  human  bones,"  said  I  to  the  old  man. 

"  Yes,  sir,  and  many  a  year  they  must  ha'  lain  here, 
for  you  see  there  is  no  sign  of  a  coffin.  That  must  ha' 
rotted  away  long  ago." 

"  Do  you  know  whose  grave  it  was  ?  " 

"  Oh,  no,  it  is  too  long  ago  for  that.  We  ha'  not 
used  this  part  of  the  churchyard  much.  A  very  old 
grave,  sir,  and  bad  workin'  in  it."  He  struck  hard  into 
it  Avith  a  cruel-looking  three-pronged  too],  and  then 
began  again  with  his  spade,  and  threw  up  more  bones. 
I  tried  to  turn  a  little  earth  over  them  with  my  stick, 
but  they  refused  to  be  covei'ed. 

"  And  so  no  one  knows  who  was  buried  here." 

"  Why,  no,  sir,  how  should  they  ?  It  was  long  ago, 
for  the  ground  is  so  dry  that  it  must  have  taken  a  long 
time  for  a  body  to  get  like  this  ;  the  grave  is  very  old." 


CH.  VI.  Alfj'iston  and  Wilmington.  83 

"  Some  poor  person,  I  suppose  ? " 

"No  doubt,  sir,  but  it  makes  no  difference  now. 
This  is  what  we  must  all  come  to,  sir,  and  we  don't 
know  how  soon." 

The  grave  told  the  tale ;  it  needed  no  sermon  from 
within  it. 

"  I  have  not  much  time  to  spare,"  said  the  sexton, 
"  for  the  funeral  be  at  half-past  four,"  -It  was  then 
near  three.     "  I  shall  not  get  home  before  milkin'  time." 

"  And  who  is  to  be  buried  here  ?  " 

"  Oh,  sir,  it  be  a  poor  'ooman  as  lived  over  yonder, 
and  very  sad  it  be  about  them.  She  had  three  children 
at  a  birth  a  month  or  so  ago,  and  she  was  very  destitute. 
Her  husband  works  on  the  line  now,  although  he  was 
formerly  a  labourer.  The  children  all  died,  and  the 
poor  mother  lingered  on  till  last  Friday,  shocking 
destitute  as  I  believe,  sir.  Poor  thing,  she  was  fairly 
wore  out.  Very  sorry  I  be  for  'em  all ;  for  the  other 
five  children  as  they  have  got  are  all  young,  and  the 
father  is  dazed  like.     It  be  a  great  trouble  for  him." 

"  And  the  mother  is  to  be  buried  in  an  hour's  time  % " 

"Yes,  sir,  and  she  is  better  here  perhaps;  but  I  be 
sorry  for  Aim  and  the  children.     They  live  over  there." 

He  pointed  into  the  beautiful  country  beyond,  more 
beautiful  than  usual  it  seemed  as  I  turned  from  that 
mournful  earth,  and  the  ghastly  relics  of  some  felloAV- 
creature  who  had  once  walked  over  these  fields  as 
lightly  as  the  best,  now  tossed  into  the  sunlight  as  if  in 
grim  irony  of  existence.  To  look  out  from  the  churchyard 
upon  the  endless  landscape  startles  the  mind.     Tltat  all 


84  Field  PatJis  and  Green  Lanes.       ch.  vi. 

seems  so  serene  and  immutable,  while  we — 'tis  but  a  day 
Ave  liave  before  us  to  wander  through  these  fast-vanishing 
scenes ;  a  brief  day,  well-nigh  over  before  we  realise  that 
it  has  begun,  and  the  end  of  it  is  a  heedless  labourer 
digging  a  hole  in  the  ground,  and  a  few  solemn  pathetic 
words  said  over  deaf  ears,  and  a  vacant  place  left  in 
perhaps  one  or  two  faithful  hearts,  and  a  hillock  covered 
with  grass.  An  end  but  too  familiar  to  us  all,  yet  never 
familiar.  Who  can  but  think  of  that  noble  passage  of 
Carlyle,  loftiest  of  all  modern  teachers : — "  This  little 
life-boat  of  an  Earth,  with  its  noisy  crew  of  a  Mankind, 
and  all  their  troubled  History,  will  one  day  have 
vanished ;  faded  like  a  cloud-speck  from  the  azure  of 
the  All !  What  then  is  man  !  What  then  is  man  ! 
He  endures  but  for  an  hour,  and  is  crushed  before  the 
moth.  Yet  in  the  being  and  in  the  working  of  a 
faithful  man  is  there  already  (as  all  faith,  from  the  be- 
ginning, gives  assurance)  a  something  that  pertains  not 
to  this  wild  death-element  of  Time ;  that  triumphs  over 
Time,  and  is,  and  will  be,  when  Time  shall  be  no  more." 
Past  the  old  church  and  the  ruins  of  the  Priory 
there  is  a  narrow  cart-track  which  leads  straight  to  a 
chalk  pit,  and  close  to  that  pit  the  Long  Man  stretches 
himself  far  up  the  hill.  I  walked  up  to  the  spot,  and 
found  that  the  outline  was  bricked-in,  a  work  of  recent 
times.  In  Horsfield's  Sussex  it  is  stated  that  the 
"  indentation  is  so  very  slight,  as  not  to  bo  visible  on 
the  spot,  although  it  may  occasionally  be  seen  at  the 
distance  of  two  or  three  miles."  It  is  to  be  seen  quite 
plainly  now,  the  bricks   being  clear  of  grass  and  laid 


CH.  VI.  Al/risio?i  and  Wilmington.  85 

two  deep.  Some  people  in  the  neighbourhood  have 
taken  this  precaution  to  prevent  the  disappearance 
of  their  local  giant.  There  appears  to  be  a  large 
tumulus  in  the  hill  just  below  it.  From  the  Long  Man 
a  broad  path  runs  round  the  brow  of  the  hill,  and 
half  England  seems  to  be  at  your  feet.  The  Downs  at 
this  height  present  as  fine  a  field  for  walking  as  any- 
one could  desire,  but  it  is  evident  that  few  do  desire  it, 
for  a  boy  who  was  frightening  crows  from  a  newly-sown 
field  told  me  he  had  not  seen  a  stranger  there  for  three 
weeks.  He  seemed  to  be  having  an  uneasy  time  of  it. 
Two  or  three  lar^e  crows  would  alight  at  a  far  corner  of 
the  field,  which  was  on  the  hill  side,  and  as  soon  as  he 
made  pretence  to  go  towards  them,  some  old  stagers 
descended  upon  the  ground  from  the  other  side,  and  this 
game  they  kept  up  as  long  as  I  watched  the  scene.  It 
did  not  seem  to  be  a  pleasant  way  of  passing  the  day. 
The  Downs  wei'e  in  many  places  literally  covered  with 
the  cowslip,  the  "freckled  cowslip,"  as  Shakespeare 
calls  it,  the  bed  of  the  most  life-like  of  all  fairies,  Ariel. 

"  In  a  cowslip's  bell  I  lie  ; 
There  I  coucli  when  owls  ilo  cry." 

On  this  particular  day,  there  were  miles  of  cowslips 
lighting  up  the  green  hills.  I  kept  along  the  Downs 
till  I  found  myself  nearly  opposite  Polegate,  with  its 
junction,  and  then  struck  down  towards  it,  and  soon 
reached  the  station — thinking  much  of  the  yew  tree  and 
its  silent  companions,  and  of  yonder  lonely  grave,  and 
the  sad  group  of  children  left  motherless  in  a  hard  world. 


CHAPTER   VII. 

IN   THE   SOUTJl   DOWNS. 

Vmrn  Fulborough  to  Stonington. — The  Mysterious  Stranger. — Parliaia 
Park. — A  Counlr}'  Inn. — The  "  "\Vorkus."^rrom  Storrington 
to  the  Devil's  Uyke. — The  Phantoms  of  the  Downs.— Washing- 
ton.—  Chanctonhury  Piing. — Wistou  House.  —  Steyuing  and 
Bramher. —  The  Pird-stuirer.  —  Sickle  versus  Steam. — South 
Down  Shccii  and  Grass. 

At  Pulborough  Junction,  whither  I  had  come  on  my 
way  to  Parham,  I  met  with  a  man  who  puzzled  me. 
He  had  a  thin,  keen,  intellectual  looking  countenance, 
a  sharp  eye,  a  somewhat  sallow  complexion,  a  tuft  of 
hair  on  his  chin.  An  American,  thought  I,  beyond  a 
doubt — and  yet,  how  comes  he  here  ?  This  is  not  the 
road  to  Paris,  nor  even  to  Shakespeare's  birth-place ; 
not  a  part  of  any  beaten  track  ;  and,  moreover,  this 
man  has  not  a  tourist's  new  suit  of  clothes  on — facts 
which  tell  against  my  surmise.  I  felt  bound  to  speak 
to  him. 

He  evidently  knew  a  great  deal  about  that  })art  of 
the  country,  and  the  people  who  lived  in  it,  but  what 
he  was  doing  there  was  still  a  mystery.  He  had  only 
a  small  black  bag  in  his  hand,  and  could  not  possibly 
be  a  commercial  traveller,  neither  was  he  an  artisan. 


CH.  VII.  ///  the  South  Downs.  8  7 


He  seemed  to  be  a  well-educated  and  long-headed  sort 
of  man.     I  could  make  nothing  of  him. 

"  These  are  all  rather  poor  places  about  here,"  said  he, 
"  Hardham,  Greatham,  small  places  not  worth  seeing." 

"  But  I  have  come  here  on  purpose  to  see  small 
places.     I  don't  like  big  ones." 

"  Well,  if  you  want  pretty  scenery,  you  had  better  get 
nearer  to  the  Downs — it  is  not  very  good  about  here." 

"So  I  see;  "  and  indeed  the  prospect  from  the  rail- 
road station  is  not  very  brilliant.  "  I  will  go  on  and 
sleep  at  Storrington,  and  see  Parham  on  my  way." 

"  You  have  heard  of  that  affair,  I  suppose,  sir  ?  It 
was " 

"  Yes,"  said  I,  "  I  know  all  about  it,  and  do  not  want 
to  hear  any  more,  thank  you.  Is  there  any  business 
doing  about  here  ? " 

"  Business  ?  No,  this  is  the  wrong  part  of  the  world 
for  that.  We  have  a  great  seed  merchant  living  just 
above  there,  and  what  do  you  think  I  noticed  the  other 
day  ?  All  his  bags  were  stamped  with  some  maker's 
name  and  the  address,  '  Ontario,  Canada.'  I  asked 
about  it,  and  they  told  me  that  Canadian-made  bags 
have  driven  English  bags  completely  out  of  the  market, 
for  they  are  both  better  and  cheaper.  What  do  you 
think  of  that  ?  " 

"  I  think,"  said  I,  "  that  the  same  sort  of  thing  is 
going  on  in  many  trades  just  now.  American  calicos 
are  better  and  cheaper  than  English  goods  of  the 
same  description,  so  they  tell  me.  We  shall  have  to 
bestir  ourselves  by  and  by." 


88  Field  Paths  ami  Green  Lanes,     en.  vu. 

.  "  Yes, — you  can  get  American  calicos  now  in  every 
village.  It  is  all  because  we  lot  the  Americans  see  our 
macliinery  in  tlie  Great  Exhibition,  sir.  Of  course, 
they  went  away  and  imitated  it,  and  we  shall  lose  our 
trade.  I  always  tlionglit  we  did  wrong  to  show  our 
machinery." 

That  was  his  explanation  of  a  great  change  in  the 
current  of  trade,  which  is  yet  destined  to  make  some 
noise  in  England  when  it  is  properly  understood.  For 
some  time  to  come,  our  supreme  confidence  in  ourselves 
will  prevent  our  being  much  troubled  about  a  competi- 
tion which  has  already  cost  us  dearly. 

"  I  do  not  think  that  is  the  cause  of  it,"  said  I,  "  but 
never  mind.  You  will  not  be  offentled  if  I  ask  yon 
what  brings  you  to  this  dull  part  ?  " 

"I  wtdk  about  all  over  Sussex,  sir." 

"  Dear  me,  and  so  do  I." 

'■'  But  you  are  not  in  my  trade,  sir." 

"  I  do  not  know  that — tell  me  what  you  have  got  in 
that  little  black  bag,  and  I  shall  be  better  able  to  judge.'' 

"  My  instruments." 

"Well,  well.     You  must  be  a  dentist." 

"  No,  sir  ;  and  yet  I  go  to  almost  every  house  far  and 
near,  at  one  time  or  another." 

"  Surely  you  are  not  an  undertaker,"  said  I,  starting 
back,  for  I  have  no  partiality  for  imdertakers, 

"  I  am  not,  sir ; "  saitl  the  man  ;  "  I  am  a  iJiano-forte 
tuner.''' 

I  can  give  a  shrewd  guess  at  the  trades  of  most 
persons  at  a  glance,  but  what  outward  sign  or  token  is 


CH.  VII.  In  the  South  Downs.  89 

there  to  denote  a  piano  tuner  ?  My  friend  was  soon 
out  of  sight,  black  bag  and  all;  and  I  shaped  my  course 
for  Parham,  that  old  house  which  is  stored  with  count- 
less curiosities  of  art  and  literature,  from  Coptic  and 
Syriac  manuscripts  to  a  book  called  the  "  World  of 
Wonders,"  containing  an  autograph  of  our  Shakespeare  ; 
one  of  the  very  few  relics  of  his  handwriting  iu 
existence.  I  thought  I  had  made  arrangements  to  get 
a  sight  of  these  treasures,  but  I  misunderstood  them, 
and  consequently  I  was  obliged  to  content  myself  with 
a  survey  of  the  building  from  the  carriage  drive. 

It  is  a  picturesque  house,  with  its  gray  old  face 
turned  towards  the  South  Downs,  and  standing  in  the 
midst  of  a  fine  and  well-timbered  park.  The  oaks  are 
ancient  and  wide-spreading  ;  near  the  house  are  mag- 
nificent elms,  and  on  the  way  to  it,  some  incomparable 
hawthorns.  The  woods  are  thick  ;  one  wanders  on 
through  them  knee-deep  in  ferns,  turning  up  rabbits 
by  hundreds.  A  somewhat  melancholy  looking  park 
is  it,  with  all  its  beauty,  as  many  of  these  old  parks 
are  apt  to  be.  The  weight  of  years  ha's  settled  down 
upon  them.  Parham  can  boast,  among  many  other 
things,  of  a  heronry.  "  Formerly,"  says  my  beloved 
Yarrell,  "  in  the  palmy  days  of  falconry,  the  places 
where  they  were  bred  were  almost  held  sacred  ;  the 
bird  was  considered  royal  game,  and  penal  statutes 
were  enacted  for  its  preservation.  Now,  however,  the 
heron  is  disregarded,  and  left  to  depend  on  its  own 
sagacity  for  its  safety."  But  here  it  is  still  protected, 
and  Mr.  A.  E.  Knox,  in  his  interesting  "  Ornithological 


go  Field  Paths  and  Green  Lanes,      m.  vn. 

Rambles,"  tells  us  that  Pavham  "  can  now  boast  of 
possessing  one  of  the  finest  establishments  in  the  king- 
dom, of  this  magnificent  and  interesting  species." 

When  one  has  gazed  one's  fill  at  the  house,  there  is 
nothing  to  do  but  to  pass  on,  by  the  road  which  runs 
near  the  mansion  and  the  little  old  church  near  it,  and 
then  almost  touches  a  farmhouse  called  Springfield, 
and  comes  out  at  the  very  foot  of  the  Downs.  From 
thence  it  is  a  pleasant  walk  of  a  mile  and  a  half  to 
Storrington,  where  at  the  "White  Horse"  Inn  I  was 
furnished  with  a  stuffy  bed  in  a  stuffy  room,  and  had 
for  dinner  the  toughest  mutton  that  any  man's  teeth 
could  cope  withal — and  this  in  the  very  midst  of  Mutton- 
land,  where  the  genuine  South  Down  sheep  are  as  com- 
mon as  blackberries  on  the  hedges.  If  you  wish  to 
taste  the  worst  butter,  milk,  and  cream  in  the  world  you 
must  go  to  the  country  for  them  ;  in  Herefordshire  you 
cannot  get  an  apple  ;  in  the  South  Down  region  there 
is  no  mutton  fit  to  eat ;  at  the  seaside  there  is  no  fish 
until  the  train  comes  in  from  London  ;  I  should  not  be 
surprised  to  find  nothing  but  American  cheese  sold  in 
Cheshire,  just  as  it  is  very  certain  that  five  butchers  out 
of  six  are  now  selling  American  beef  for  English.  And 
when  good,  it  is  better  beef  than  ours,  for  it  is  grass-fed, 
whereas  most  of  ours  is  the  product  of  oil-cake  and 
patent  cattle-food  and  similar  compounds.  But  too 
often  the  meat  sent  over  here  is  not  good,  nor  is  it  pos- 
sible that  the  best  descriptions  could  be  imported  at  a 
profit,  seeing  that  "  prime  joints  "  are  from  25  cents  to 
27  cents  a  pound  in  New  York,  or  a  shilling  and  over, — 


en.  Yii.  /u  the  South  Downs.  9 1 

in  other  words,  much  about  the  same  price  as  beef  in 
England. 

Storringtou  is  a  small  old-fashioned  place,  with  dark 
pine  woods  and  commons  in  front  of  it,  and  the  Downs 
rising  somewhat  abruptly  at  the  back.  In  an  evening 
stroll  I  came  to  a  long,  low,  antiquated  looking  building 
about  three-quarters  of  a  mile  out  of  the  town,  and 
wondered  what  it  could  be,  for  clearly  it  was  not  a  gen- 
tleman's house,  nor  a  farm,  nor  could  it  be  a  prison. 
Two  tramps  at  that  moment  came  along,  one  limping 
painfully  in  his  stockings,  his  shoes  being  slung  over  his 
shoulder.  "Beg  pardon,  sir,"  said  the  first,  "can  you  tell 
us  where  is  tbe  Union?"  A  vile  face  he  had — guilt, 
not  wretchedness,  was  stamped  in  glaring  characters 
upon  it.  There  was  a  boy  sitting  on  a  rail  over  a 
little  stream  whittling  a  stick,  like  the  traditional 
Yankee.  He  seemed  buried  in  thought.  "  What 
place  is  that  ? "  I  asked,  pointing  to  the  long  barn-like 
building.  "  It  be  the  ivorhus^  replied  he,  the  desti- 
nation for  the  night  of  the  rascally  looking  tramp  and 
his  limping  companion — a  brace  of  rascals  who,  I  en- 
gage to  say,  will  never  do  a  hard  day's  work  as  long 
as  they  can  get  food  and  lodging  for  nothing.  Why 
should  the}'^  ? 

I  started  off  betimes  in  the  morning  for  the  walk 
which  I  had  marked  out,  to  wit,  from  Storrington  over 
the  Downs  to  the  Devil's  Dyke,  near  Brighton,  a 
journey  the  length  of  which  I  could  not  estimate,  for 
the  path  over  the  hills  is  a  doubtful  and  circuitous 
one.     It  turned  out  to  be  nearly  twenty  miles,  includ- 


92  Field  Paths  and  Green  Lanes. 


ing  tlie  descent  upon  Steyning  and  Bramber  and  the 
climb  up  the  Downs  again  beyond  Beediug.  But  the 
morning  was  so  lovely — a  perfect  summer's  day  at  the 
beginning  of  August,  with  a  westerly  breeze  and  a  sky 
of  blue,  dappled  with  Avhite  fleecy  clouds — that  the 
prospect  of  a  long  walk  was  all  that  any  man  could 
need  to  put  him  in  good  spirits.  Soon  I  was  on  the 
very  crest  of  the  Downs  behind  Storrington,  and  could 
see  the  sea  gleaming  like  silver  some  miles  away,  and 
vessels  seeming  no  more  than  small  black  dots  upon  it. 
Landward  a  column  of  light  smoke  marked  out  the 
city  of  Chichester,  and  nearer  still  the  eye  rested  on 
the  dark  foliage  of  the  thick  trees  at  Parham,  while  far 
in  the  distance  was  the  clear  blue  lino  of  the  Surrey 
hills.  The  white  clouds,  soft  and  billowy,  which  occa- 
sionally passed  over  the  face  of  the  sun  threw  Avondcr- 
ftd  shadows  on  the  grass;  a  huge  giant  appeared  all 
across  the  path,  then  a  turreted  castle  — one  could 
almost  make  out  the  sentinel  on  the  walls— strancre 
and  gigantic  animals,  shapes  not  to  be  likened  to 
anything  known  to  us  on  earth.  All  this  and  more 
were  visible  on  those  glorious  Downs  that  August  day, 
for  what  forms  will  not  the  shadows  take  in  the  early 
morning  or  at  eve,  especially  in  wild  and  lonely 
places  ?  Nothing  could  have  been  changed  for  the 
better,  not  even  the  weather  which  people  abuse  so 
much,  for  it  Avas  such  Avcather  as  only  the  English 
summer  yields,  neither  hot  nor  cold,  but  Avith  a 
delightful  freshness  in  the  air  which  makes  the  blood 
dance    again.      Nathaniel    HaAvthorne,    decidedly   no 


CH.  vii.  In  the  SotU/i  Downs.  93 

lover  of  England  or  anything  English,  could  not  refrain 
from  breaking  out  now  and  then  in  praise  of  these 
summer  days.  "  I  think,"  he  says  in  his  English  Note 
Book,  "  that  there  is  never  in  this  English  climate 
the  pervading  warmth  of  an  American  summer  day. 
The  sunshine  may  be  excessively  hot,  but  an  over- 
shadowing cloud,  or  tlie  shade  of  a  tree,  or  of  a 
building,  at  once  affords  relief;  and  if  the  slightest 
breeze  stirs,  you  feel  the  latent  freshness  of  the  air." 

It  was  not  very  long  before  I  came  within  sight  of 
the  little  church  of  Washington,  high  up  on  the  hill 
side, — a  very  different  place  from  the  other  Washing- 
ton across  the  Atlantic.  This  little  spot  was  a  Saxon 
settlement,  as  Mr.  Lower  relates  : — "  Wasa-inofa-tun, 
the  settlement  of  the  sons  of  Wasa."  It  was  in  this 
parish,  as  the  same  industrious  archosologist  tells  us, 
that  three  thousand  pennies  were  found,  of  the  reigns 
of  Edward  the  Confessor  and  Harold  II.  They  were 
supposed  to  have  been  hidden  just  before  the  battle  of 
Hastings ;  and  what  is  very  curious  is,  that  down  to 
the  very  day  they  were  found,  in  18G6,  local  tradition 
had  pointed  out  the  spot  as  that  in  which  a  great 
treasure  was  concealed.  Local  tradition,  as  I  have 
more  than  once  pointed  out  in  these  pages,  is  not  so 
mean  an  authority  as  some  people  would  have  us 
suppose.  The  vessel  which  contained  these  coins, 
says  Mr.  Lower,  "  was  turned  up  by  the  plough,  and 
they  were  so  scattered  broadcast,  that  they  were 
regarded  by  the  peasantry  as  pieces  of  old  tin,  and 
sold,   principally   to    the    village    innkeeper,    for    the 


94  Field  Paths  and  Green  Lanes,     en.  vn, 

purchase  of  ale.     In  one  instance,  half  a  pint  of  them 
was  offered  for  a  ([uart  of  '  double  X.'  " 

From  this  point  tlie  Downs  rise  up  sharply,  and 
begin  to  be  covered  with  shrubs  and  small  trees,  Avhich 
get  thicker  and  thicker  until  a  dark  belt  of  wood  is 
reached  at  the  top,  like  a  huge  cap  on  the  brow  of 
the  hill.  Tliis  is  Chanctonbuiy  Ring,  a  landmark  for 
many  a  league  round  about.  I  had  seen  it  from  dis- 
tant points  so  often  that  I  was  well  plea.sed  to  make 
nearer  acquaintance  with  it.  The  view  from  the  "Ring" 
is  superb,  and  the  spot  has  something  more  than  a 
picturesque  interest  connected  with  it,  for  it  is  said  to  be 
an  earthwork  of  Celtic  origin,  planted  round  with  trees. 
To  the  right  of  it  on  the  plain,  almost  under  its  shade, 
there  stands  the  beautiful  old  house  known  as  Wiston 
Manor.  I  made  my  way  down  to  it,  not  without  some 
scrambling,  and  found  another  of  those  wondrous  parks 
which  add  so  much  to  the  beauty  of  England.  The 
house  looks  stately,  and  even  solemn,  among  the  green 
fields,  distinctly  the  memorial  of  another  age, — an  age 
when  the  Shirley  family  flourished  here,  and  when  one 
of  the  three  famous  "  band  of  brothers "  went  into 
foreign  lands  and  married  a  Circassian  lady,  and  after- 
ward came  back  and  lived  with  his  wife  in  this  house 
at  Wiston.  But  the  roving  spirit  was  strong  in  him, 
and  he  returned  to  the  East,  and  died  in  Persia,  and 
his  wife  ended  her  days  in  a  nunnery.  The  last  of 
the  Shirleys  died  in  1638,  and  the  estate  came  into 
possession  of  the  present  family,  the  Gorings,  in  1743. 
"  No  Shirley  relics  now  exist  in  the  house  at  Wiston," 


cii.  VII.  /;/  the  So2Ltk  Dozvns.  95 

says  Murray's  Handbook,  but  nevertheless  I  much 
longed  to  see  the  grand  old  hall  and  dining-room 
within,  and  stood  a  long  time  admiring  the  magnifi- 
cent entrance,  the  heavy  mullioned  windows,  and  the 
exquisite  park  with  deer  moving  in  stately  herds  to 
and  fro, 

A  short  walk  along  the  road  brings  one  to  Steyning, 
a  clean  and  comfortable-looking  town,  with  an  inn,  the 
"  White  Horse,"  which  looks  as  if  it  miglit  be  made  a 
pleasant  home  for  a  day  or  two.  Few  towns  in  Sussex 
have  struck  me  more  favourably  than  this.  I  was 
directed  to  the  vicarage  for  the  keys  of  the  church,  and 
the  gardener  came  and  showed  me  the  sacred  building, 
the  chief  features  of  which  are  the  capitals  of  some  of 
the  pillars,  of  fine  workmanship,  and  supposed  to  date 
back  to  the  time  of  the  Confessor.  The  vicarage  is  said 
to  be  embellished  with  some  curious  wood  carvings  ; 
but  although  the  maid-servant  who  opened  the  door  to 
me  was  gracious,  and  the  watch-dog  did  not  bark  or  bite, 
yet  I  did  not  like  to  ask  permission  to  go  in.  It  is  an 
unlucky  day  when  the  traveller  is  obliged  to  pass  three 
houses  of  great  interest  unseen. 

Half  a  mile  through  a  shady  lane,  across  the  line, 
and  we  are  at  Bramber.  The  lane  is  narrow,  and 
presently  I  met  an  elderly  gentleman  coming  along 
with  a  dog.  We  had  a  few  minutes'  chat  together,  for 
he  seemed  to  be  a  good-natured  man,  and  in  the  mood 
for  a  talk. 

"  You  would  scarcely  believe,"  said  he,  "  that  this  is 
the  old  coach  road  we  are  on  now." 


96  Field  Paths  and  Green  Lanes,      m.  vn. 


"  I  should  not,"  said  I,  "  for  there  seems  scarcely 
room  for  a  wheelbarrow.  I  suppose,  however,  that 
these  young  trees  and  biishes  have  encroached  upon  it 
of  late  years." 

"  Not  so  much  as  you  might  think.  The  roads 
about  here  were  proverbially  bad,  and  there  were  only 
certain  places  at  Avhich  it  was  possible  for  one  vehicle 
to  pass  another.  That's  why  they  used  to  put  bells  on 
horses,  so  that  the  drivers  might  get  out  of  each  other's 
way  in  good  time." 

"  Thank  you,"  said  I  ;  "  now  will  you  tell  me  where- 
abouts is  Bramber  Castle  ?  " 

"  There,  just  above  you,  hidden  by  those  trees.  A 
mere  heap  of  stones  is  left  now,  but  it  must  have  been 
a  strong  fortress  once,  for  the  sea  came  up  here 
formerly,  and  the  castle  was  intended  to  guard  the  land 
in  this  direction." 

I  wondered  who  and  what  the  civil  gentleman  with  the 
dog  could  be,  but  he  passed  on  without  my  finding  out, 
and  in  a  few  minutes  I  made  my  way  to  the  tall  frag- 
ment of  an  old  tower  and  the  shattered  walls,  which 
are  now  all  that  is  left  of  the  seat  of  the  once  powerful 
Norman  family  of  De  Braose.  All  ruined  and  broken 
as  the  walls  are,  they  still  look  as  if  they  would  last  for 
ever.  There  is  a  mound  in  the  middle,  encompassed 
by  thorn  trees,  from  which  a  splendid  view  of  the 
Downs  and  surrounding  country  is  obtained.  Just 
below  is  the  church,  with  its  small  ivy-clad  tower ;  but 
the  gate  thereto  was  locked,  and  I  went  on  my  way 
without  seeing  it. 


CH.  VII.  Iji  the  South  Downs.  97 

In  the  one  street  of  Bramber,  near  to  a  clean  and 
cos3'-looking  inn,  I  noticed  a  signboard  pointing  "  To 
the  Museum."  What  sort  of  a  museum  coiild  it  be  ? 
It  turned  out  to  be  a  very  curious  phace  indeed,  pre- 
pared and  fitted  up  by  one  man,  whose  name  is  James 
Potter,  a  self-trained  naturalist.  Numerous  animals, 
birds,  and  insects,  all  caught  and  stuffed  by  Potter 
himself,  and  made  up  into  striking  or  grotesque  groups, 
were  round  the  room.  There  is  a  "  kittens'  croquet 
party,"  which  must  be  the  delight  of  children,  a 
"  squirrels'  carouse,"  a  cricket  match  played  by  guinea- 
pigs,  and  other  scenes,  wonderfully  life-like,  and  all 
sweet  and  clean  and  pleasant  to  look  upon,  which  is 
quite  a  new  feature  in  connection  with  stuffed  animals. 
"  I  suppose,"  said  I,  "  many  of  these  creatures  are  only 
made  up  ? "  "  Oh  no,  sir,"  said  Potter,  "  they  are  all 
real.  I  was  obliged  to  have  them  alive,  or  I  could 
not  have  given  them  the  expression."  There  were 
some  capital  herons  and  king-fishers,  caught  close  by. 
I  noticed  on  the  wall  a  certificate,  setting  forth  that 
in  September,  1839,  a  premium  of  £2  had  been 
awarded  to  James  Potter  for  "  fifty-six  years'  con- 
tinuous service."  And  a  very  liberal  reward  too  for 
over  half  a  century's  faithful  service,  and  I  hope  James 
Potter  took  care  of  his  large  fortune,  and  properly 
secui'ed  it  to  his  descendants  in  the  male  line. 

"  Was  that  your  father  ?  "  I  asked  the  naturalist 
*'  My  grandfather,  sir,  I  believe."  What  an  odd  thing 
that  he  should  be  in  doubt  on  such  a  point.  Evidentl}^, 
however,  he  is  a  worthy  and  an  industrious  man,  and  I 


98  Field  Paths  aiid  Green  Lanes,     en.  vii. 

am  quite  sure  he  has  not  squandered  the  family  in- 
heritance in  riotous  living. 

We  now  come  to  Beeding,  smallest  of  small  villages, 
where  once  stood  a  priory,  long  since  gone  to  dust. 
Here  I  resolved  to  recover  the  crest  of  the  Downs,  and 
with  that  object  in  view,  I  followed  the  chalky  road 
which  may  be  descried  from  Beeding,  turning  round  by 
the  "  Rising  Sun  "  inn.  It  is  a  long  and  steep  road, 
and  near  the  top  I  could  distinguish  a  steam-plough  at 
work,  and  could  hear  its  noise  and  fuss  while  still  afar 
off.  A  man  was  cutting  oats  in  a  field  which  I  passed, 
and  "  after  compliments  "  I  said  to  him,  "  So  you  have 
got  the  steam-plough  even  here." 

"  Ay,  it  be  steam  everywhere  now,"  said  he,  wiping 
his  forehead,  "  a  poor  fellow  don't  get  no  chance." 

"  Well,  you  see,  it  saves  the  farmer  money." 

"No,  it  doiint ;  it  ain't  cheaper  in  the  end.  The 
reaping  machine  do  gather  up  all  the  stoiins,  and  mucks 
the  cam  all  over  the  plaiice.  It  waiistes  a  sight,  I  can 
tell  ye." 

"  But  it  does  the  work  quickly." 

"  Not  much  quicker  on  these  hills  than  we  can. 
And  look  how  clean  it  is  done  ;  "  he  pointed  down 
to  his  little  sheaves  with  some  pride.  They  were  all 
tied  up  carefully,  and  laid  by  in  rows  as  if  for  an  agri- 
cultural exhibition.  "  You  can't  get  ne'er  a  machine 
to  do  that.     I  sometimes  think  I  will  emigrate." 

"  You  will  have  to  go  a  long  way,  if  you  want  to  get 
out  of  the  way  of  steam." 

"  Well,  it  be  hard  to  get  a  living  here,  and  yet  this 


CH.  VII.  Ill  the  Soltek  Doivns.  99 

be  the  best  way  of  doing  the  work,  after  all,"  going  on 
with  his  reaping ;  "  yoa  don't  gather  up  no  stoiins  with 
this." 

The  competitors,  man  and  machine,  were  botli  left 
doing  their  best,  and  at  last  I  was  on  the  top  of  the 
hills  once  more,  with  the  ever  welcome  sea  again  in 
sight.  To  tlie  right  was  Worthing,  while  just  in  front 
one  could  see  the  tops  of  the  vessels  lying  off  Shoreham. 
A  large  city,  covered  with  smoke,  stood  a  good  way 
further  to  the  left — and  this  was  the  once  quiet  village 
of  Brighthelmstone.  The  view  of  the  sea  from  this 
point  seems  almost  bovindless.  After  "  prospecting  "  a 
little  at  the  top,  you  strike  a  green  lane  and  cart-track, 
running  past  a  couple  of  barns  over  the  brow  of  the 
hill.  Two  valleys  have  to  be  crossed,  but  the  green 
lane  need  not  be  lost  sight  of  all  the  way.  Every  now 
and  then  one  comes  across  patches  of  purple  heath, 
and  the  ground  beneath  one's  feet  is  sprinkled  with 
celandine,  and  is  so  thickly  covered  with  wild  thyme 
that  every  step  which  crushes  the  grass  sends  up  a 
fragrance  more  delicious  and  more  welcome  than  all  the 
poor  imitations  of  sweet  smells  which  are  vended  in 
Bond  Street.  Everywhere  on  the  hill-side  large  flocks 
of  sheep  are  regaling  themselves  on  this  celestial  food, 
and  turning  it  into  "saddles"  and  "haunches"  which 
will  cause  the  mouth  of  the  epicure  to  water  and  his 
heart  to  leap  for  joy.  Southdown  sheep  may  be  found 
in  many  parts  of  the  world,  but  without  the  Southdown 
grass  their  flesh  cannot  have  the  true  and  proper 
savour.      Wanderinsf    on    amid    thousands    of    these 


lOO         Field  PatJis  and  Green  Lanes,     ch.  vh. 

adorable  creatures,  we  at  last  see  the  little  village  of 
Pojiiings,  with  comfortable  farm-houses  near,  and  the 
Devil's  Dyke  above — smooth,  round,  and/ct^at  the  top, 
"muttony,"  as  some  one  has  said  of  the  South  Downs 
generally.  And  there  my  walk  came  to  an  end,  for 
the  road  between  the  Dyke  and  Brighton  is  one  of  the 
dustiest  in  England,  and  is  overrun  with  holiday 
makers  in  various  stages  of  drunkenness — noisy,  ill- 
looking,  offensive,  much  to  be  avoided  by  all  sober  and 
right-minded  persons.  But  of  the  Downs  themselves 
no  one  can  ever  grow  weary,  for,  as  Mr.  Lower  truly 
says,  "  In  their  sweet  undulations  there  are  continually 
changing  curves  and  indents,  which  vary  as  they  may 
— from  the  precipitous  valley  down  which  a  confident 
horseman  would  scarcely  urge  his  courser,  to  the  gentle 
declivity  where  the  most  delicate  lady  (in  imitation  of 
the  fairies  which  of  old  haunted  it)  miglit  dance — are 
always  lines  of  beauty,  such  as  we  confidently  believe 
have  nowhere  else  an  existence,  except,  perhaps,  in 
some  graceful  island  group  of  the  Pacific." 


CHAPTER    VIII. 

HAYWARD'S   HEATH   TO   EAST   GRINSTEAD. 

Another  "Country  Inn." — An  Uncomfort.able  Niglit.  — The  Eich  Man 
from  London. — CuckfieLl. — A  Vision  at  the  King's  Head. — 
The  Haunted  House.  —  Lindfiehl  and  its  Church. — Pax  Hill. — 
Horsted  Keynes. — Arcadian  Shepherds  Carousing. — Br.iadhurst. 
— East  Grinstead. — The  "Players."' — The  "  Last  Performance." 

As  I  have  a  fancy  for  stalling  "out  on  my  walks  early 
in  the  morning,  I  went  to  Hayvvard's  Heath  overnight, 
intending  to  explore  some  of  the  country  round  about 
it  before  the  main  business  of  my  journey  began.  I 
found  an  inn  there  almost  adjoining  the  station;  a  good 
inn  for  aught  I  know  in  ordinary  times,  but  it  so 
chanced  on  this  occasion  that  the  best  rooms  were  all 
engaged,  as  the  waiter  informed  me,  by  a  "London 
gent."  These  visitors  from  London,  with  their  piles  of 
money  and  unlimited  orders  for  all  the  best  rooms,  are 
grievously  in  the  way  of  the  honest  pedestrian,  who  can 
scarcely  find  rest  for  the  soles  of  his  feet  where  they 
are.  They  are  worse  than  the  Colorado  beetle.  You 
cannot  compete  for  the  favour  of  "mine  host,"  still  less 
for  the  smiles  of  his  dame,  with  a  gentleman  Avho  has  a 
gold  mine  in  the  City,  or  who  has  just  brought  out  a 
foreign  loan  for  the  benefit  of  his  poorer  countrymen 


I02  Field  Paths  and  Grceii  Lanes,    en.  vm, 

and  their  widows  and  orphans.  Thus  it  turned  out 
that  my  night  at  the  hotel  was  passed  in  the  most 
dismal  manner.  I  had  to  dine  on  the  crumbs  which 
were  brought  down  to  me  from  Dives'  table,  and  Dives 
with  his  friends  caroused  till  a  late  hour,  and  I  had 
scarcely  svink  off  into  an  uneasy  slumber,  when  a 
horrible  groaning,  puffing,  and  blowing  brought  me 
rudely  from  the  land  of  dreams.  I  at  first  thought  it 
Avas  the  "  London  gent "  careering  about  in  a  fit,  or 
dreaming  of  his  bags  of  gold,  and  thinking  he  was  being 
robbed  thereof,  but  it  was  only  a  goods  train  blow- 
ing off  or  otherwise  disposing  of  its  steam,  a  process 
which  lasted  all  the  night  long.  I  seldom  go  to  the 
country  for  cpiiet ;  when  I  want  that  I  come  to 
London.  The  noises  at  Hayward's  Heath  that  night 
would  have  shamed  Piccadilly.  I  will  say  nothing  of 
the  big  dog  in  the  stables  which  barked  all  night, 
because  he  can  be  poisoned  by  the  next  traveller  who 
passes  that  way.  Take  a  piece  of  prepared  meat  with 
you,  and  throw  it  out  of  Avindow  just  before  going  to 
bed.  The  early  village  cock  can  be  "  fixed "  in  the 
same  manner.  But  the  engine  is  not  amenable  to  this 
course  of  treatment,  nor  is  it  to  be  practised  on  a 
London  gent  without  fear  of  the  'sizes. 

Before  these  troubles  overtook  me,  however,  I  had 
enjoyed  an  interesting  walk  to  Cuckfield,  a  pleasant  old 
town  a  couple  of  miles  or  so  from  Hayward's  Heath. 
The  two  quaint  inns  in  it  had  a  look  so  inviting  that 
they  caused  me  to  regret  the  risk  I  had  run  of  crossing 
the  blighting  path  of  a  millionaire  at  a  railway  hotel. 


CH.  VIII.   Hayzvards  Heath,  East  Grinstcad.     103 

Moreover,  as  I  passed  the  "  King's  Head  "  I  spied  a 
fair  damsel  setting  out  clean  glasses  on  a  spotless 
cloth, — how  infinitely  preferable  to  the  ordinary  hotel 
waiter-man,  who  has  dirty  hands,  and  smells  of  gin  and 
onions.  The  hands  of  that  rosy  maiden  were  not  dirty, 
I  will  eno^aofe  for  it,  thouirh  to  be  sure*  I  had  no  means 
of  judging,  much  to  my  loss.  Just  opposite  the  tap  of 
this  inn  are  several  queer  little  shops,  among  them  a 
photographer's,  with  a  sign  in  his  window  setting  forth 
that  he  takes  "photographs  daily," — a  great  boon  to  the 
Cuckfieldians,  and  one  of  which  I  hope  they  make  good 
use.  Half  a  mile  or  so  beyond  is  one  of  those  old 
houses,  around  which  many  associations  of  legend  or 
romance  have  gathered — Cuckfield  Place,  the  "  Rook- 
wood  Hall"  of  Harrison  Ainsworth.  An  avenue  of 
limes  leads  to  the  house,  and  one  of  these  trees  is 
believed  to  have  had  the  magic  power  of  foretelling  the 
approaching  deatli  of  its  owner.  As  the  lord  of  the 
estate  passed  towards  his  home,  a  bough  from  the  tree 
fell  upon  his  path,  and  full  of  youth  and  health  as  he 
might  be,  he  then  knew  that  he  was  about  to  cross  the 
threshold  for  the  last  time.  I  met  in  the  avenue  a 
woman  with  two  children,  probably  a  gamekeeper's 
wife,  and  asked  her  a  question  or  two  about  the  house, 
which  I  could  see  at  a  little  distance. 

"It  has  all  been  done  up  the  last  few  years,"  said  she, 
"except  at  the  back,  and  that  is  just  as  it  used  to  be. 
You  can  walk  round  if  you  like." 

"  And  can  you  show  me  the  tree  about  which  they 
tell  the  stories?" 


104         Field  FatJis  and  Green  Lanes,    en.  vm. 

"  No,  I  cannot,  sir,  for  I  don't  rightly  know  which  it 
is.  But  I  have  heard  say  that  when  anybody  is  going 
to  die  in  the  big  house  a  branch  snaj^s  off,  and  they  do 
say  that  when  the  last  master  died  a  bough  was  found 
lying  on  the  path  the  next  morning."  In  this  case  the 
Avarninff  tree  seems  to  have  been  a  little  late  with  its 
sign.  As  I  had  read  that  the  tree  was  carefully  pre- 
served I  looked  about  for  it,  and  suppose  that  I  dis- 
covered it  in  a  veteran  of  the  avenue  which  was  bound 
round  with  iron  plates,  and  seemed  to  be  more  decrepit 
than  its  fellows,  as  if  the  awful  responsibility  of  being 
an  instrument  for  making  known  the  decrees  of  the 
dark  Fates  had  deprived  it  of  some  share  of  its  spirit 
and  vigour.  On  the  other  side  of  the  house  everything 
wears  a  strangely  wild  and  romantic  aspect.  There  are 
gloomy  pools  of  water,  over  which  a  thin  mist  was  slowly 
stealing,  half  hiding  the  heavy  weeds  and  grass  which 
choked  them.  Hard  by  was  a  decayed  out-building,  in 
the  yard  of  which  two  huge  bones  were  to  be  seen,  and 
presently  a  gaunt  dog  came  out  slowly  and  silentl}^  and 
began  gnawing  at  them,  occasionally  casting  a  searching 
and  wary  eye  up  at  me.  The  back  of  the  house  had  a  time- 
worn  appearance,  and  little  stretch  of  the  romancist's 
imagination  is  needed  to  invest  it  with  those  spectral 
oucsts  which  from  time  immemorial  have  haunted  ancient 
family  mansions  such  as  this.  Yet  there  is  notliing  so 
uncanny  about  the  house  itself  as  the  fateful  tree,  the 
dark  pools  of  water,  and  the  crumbling  out-house,  with 
the  huTO  bones  before  it,  like  the  relics  which  strewed 
the  cave  of  Giant  Despair,  and  the  strange,  solitary  dog. 


CH.  VIII.  Hayward's  Heath,  East  Grinstead.    105 

The  sombre  iafluences  of  this  spot  were  soon  dis 
persed  under  the  early  morning  sun,  as  I  started  off 
for  East  Grinstead.  It  is  a  hot  and  treeless  road  to 
Lindfield,  fortunately  less  than  two  miles  in  length, 
and  the  suburbs  of  Hayward's  Heath  are  as  little 
attractive  as  suburbs  generally  are.  But  Lindfield  is  a 
pleasant  village,  with  very  ancient  timbered  houses  in 
it,  the  finest  examples  thereof  being  at  the  back  of  the 
churchyard.  There  is  a  good  common  at  the  entrance 
to  the  village,  and  a  pond,  and  then  a  long  street 
abounding  with  old  houses,  all  more  or  less  interesting. 
"Any  one  tired  of  the  bustle  of  this  changeful  life," 
says  Mr.  Lower,  "  might  safely  retire  to  Lindfield  as 
one  of  the  most  peaceful  spots  in  Britain,"  and  all  that 
I  saw  there  fully  confirmed  this  impression.  The 
church,  with  its  shingled  spire,  has  a  homely  look,  but, 
alas  !  it  is  but  another  example  of  the  mischief  wrought 
by  those  architectural  wreckers,  the  "restorers."  White- 
wash and  plaster  have  done  their  worst,  and  some  old 
fine  stained  glass  has  been  carried  off  altogether,  I  saw 
traces  of  paintings  on  the  walls,  and  a  man  who  was 
cleaning  the  clock,  told  me  that  there  were  formerly 
three,  of  which  his  description  was  vague.  "  On  one 
there  used  to  be  someone  or  other  weighing  out  soles," 
said  the  njan,  or  so  I  understood  him. 

"  A  fishmonger  ?  "  I  asked. 

"No,  a  liangel.  On  the  other  was  the  apostles,  or 
something,  and  on  the  other — well,  I  forget  what  that 
was.  Some  party  or  other  has  had  'em  all  plastered 
over.     They  do  what  they  like  with  this  church,  for  you 


io6         Field  Paths  and  Green  Lanes. 


see  it's  in  Chancery,  and  nobody  takes  any  interest  in 
it.  The  old  Vicar,  who  died  lately,  came  here  only  on 
Sunday  mornings,  and  then  he  tried  to  make  himself 
disagreeable.  He  stopped  all  the  singing."  This 
bad  account  I  found  afterwards  corroborated  by  Mr. 
Lower,  who  says  that  "within  the  nineteenth  century, 
bodies  of  deceased  parishioners,  have  remained  in  the 
church  for  several  days,  for  want  of  an  officiating 
priest."  A  curious  "sepulchral  effigy  on  three  glazed 
tiles,"  dated  1520,  has  apparently  been  taken  to  rejoin 
the  stained  glass ;  at  any  rate  I  could  find  no  trace  of 
it,  nor  had  the  clock-cleaner  any  recollection  of  seeing 
or  hearing  talk  of  such  a  thing. 

From  the  churchyard,  the  road  passes  over  an  old 
bridge,  and  just  beyond  it  are  the  gates  of  an  Eliza- 
bethan mansion,  known  as  Pax-hill.  I  learned  that  the 
house  had  recently  been  sold — to  a  "  London  broker," 
as  a  matter  of  comse— and  that  the  new  family  had  not 
arrived,  so  I  summoned  up  courage  to  go  to  the  door, 
and  ask  permission  to  see  it.  After  some  persuasion, 
I  prevailed,  and  found  the  house  a  very  interesting 
building,  though  bearing  ample  traces  of  careless  treat- 
ment and  neglect.  It  has  received  some  modern  addi- 
tions, which  are  in  the  worst  possible  style  and  taste. 
But  the  old  rooms  are  charming,  and  have  exqui&ite 
examples  of  wood-carving  within  them.  There  is  a 
capital  hunting  scene  round  the  fireplace  of  the  library, 
and  in  a  panel  I  noticed  the  date  1612.  The  dining 
room  is  full  of  admirable  carving.  It  seemed  to  me 
that  in  some  of  the  old  bedrooms,  the  oaken  panelling 


cu.  VIII.   Hay'iL>ai''crs  Heathy  East  Grinst:ad.     107 

has  been  covered  with  a  cheap  and  nasty  wall-paper. 
The  modern  builder  and  repairer  is  capable  of  greater 
atrocities  than  that. 

From  the  house  one  goes  out  at  the  other  end  of  the 
park,  and  by  a  pleasant  nutty  road — and  this  has  been 
a  great  year  for  hazel  nuts — to  Horsted  Keynes,  a  small 
old-fashioned  village,  with  a  little  church  below  it.  In 
this  church  the  great  and  good  Archbishop  Leighton 
used  to  preach,  and  here  he  worked  among  the  poor, 
spending  "  most  of  his  income  in  works  of  charity," 
not  in  rich  vestments,  or  in  efforts  to  imitate  the  rites 
and  ceremonies  of  the  Papal  Church.  I  fear  such  a 
man  Avould  be  lightly  esteemed  by  the  Society  of  the 
"Holy  Cross"  and  "priests"  generally.  There  is  a 
little  inn  in  the  village,  at  which  the  pedestrian  may 
obtain  modest  refreshment  should  he  need  it,  and  there 
is  no  other  between  this  and  East  Grinstead,  ei^ht 
hilly  miles  away.  I  halted  for  a  few  minutes  here, 
for  a  biscuit  and  some  cider,  and  found  two  rustics 
smoking  long  pipes  and  drinking  liot  gin-and-water  at 
a  little  after  ten  on  a  "  muggy "  day  in  August.  No 
wonder  the  poets  laud  the  simplicity  of  rural  tastes ! 
The  landlady  seemed  to  be  a  worthy  and  respectable 
woman,  and  I  saw  her  go  to  the  kitchen  and  brew  the 
hot  grog  for  the  peaceful  and  innocent  swains.  She 
told  me  that  she  had  very  little  business,  and,  indeed, 
there  did  not  seem  to  be  two  dozen  people  in  the  place. 
After  looking  at  the  old  church  and  the  quaint  little 
effigy  inside,  I  kept  along  the  narrow  road,  which  runs 
past    the    churchyard,   in    preference   to    the   turnpike 


1 08         Field  Paths  and  Green  Lanes,    en.  vm. 

above,  and  eventually  came  to  the  ancient  house  of 
"  Broadhurst,"  where  Archbishop  Leighton  lived.  It 
is  now  a  farm-house,  with  very  ancient  barns  near  it ; 
all  the  gate-posts  and  rails  are  rotting  with  age,  and 
one  can  take  pinches  of  dust  out  of  them,  as  out  of  a 
snuff-box.  Past  the  house,  the  road  leads  to  a  gate 
locally  called  "  double-gate,"  and  the«  the  visitor  must 
cross  the  road,  and  go  over  the  stile  into  a  field,  and 
across  a  second  field,  which  ends  in  a  small  patch  of 
wood  and  the  public  road.  It  is  necessary  then  to 
turn  to  the  right,  and  follow  the  road,  which  will 
occasionally  offer  some  fine  views  of  the  South  and 
North  Downs.  While  still  four  miles  away,  East 
Grinstead  can  very  clearly  be  seen,  standing  on  a  hill. 
The  last  part  of  this  road  has,  to  tell  the  truth,  little 
to  recommend  it,  and  the  number  of  times  one  has 
to  go  up  hill  and  down  again,  chiefly  up,  is  past  all 
counting.  The  distance  from  Hayward's  Heath,  with 
the  deviations  I  have  described,  is  over  thirteen  miles. 
A  pleasant  old  town  is  East  Grinstead,  as  its  name 
implies — grenestede,  or  green  place,  "  a  clearing  in  the 
great  forest  of  the  Weald."  The  houses  have  a  vener- 
able appearance,  and  the  college  founded  by  the  Earl 
of  Dorset  in  IfiOS  is  an  imposing  building.  The  church 
is  mainly  new — almost  the  only  new  building  which  I 
observed  in  the  place.  Although  it  was  a  hot  day,  the 
room  in  the  inn  where  I  took  lunch  was  quite  cold  and 
chilly,  a  peculiarity  of  country  inns.  Doubtless  they 
are  generally  very  damjD.  While  reading  some  verses 
on  a  tombstone  in  the  churchyard — verses  quite  equal 


CH.  VIII.   Hayivard's  Heath,  East  Grins tead.     109 


to  Crabbe's,  and  much  in  the  same  vein — I  heard  the 
sounds  of  a  band,  and  asked  an  old  woman  who  was 
passing  what  was  going  on. 

"It's  the  players,"  said  she,  "they  are  over  in  yonder 
field." 

If  there  is  one  form  of  the  drama  which  pleases  me 
better  than  another  it  is  that  which  is  played  beneath 
a  tent  in  a  field,  by  a  company  of  ladies  and  gentlemen 
who  have  their  own  ways  of  interpreting  the  works  of 
the  great  masters,  and  among  whom  the  older  traditions 
of  the  stage  are  preserved,  from  sheer  force  of  necessity, 
more  closely  than  in  the  crack  theatres  of  the  day. 
These  rovers,  now  fast  dying  out,  handed  down  their 
"  business  "  one  to  the  other,  passed  on  their  favourite 
"  gags,"  and  had  little  time  to  study  "  new  readings," 
or  invent  a  new  style  of  acting.  I  have  sometimes 
thought  in  looking  at  them  that  one  got  a  fair  idea  of 
acting  as  it  used  to  be  in  Shakespeare's  day,  for  the 
stage  is  a  great  conservator  of  tradition,  and  many  an 
old  custom  is,  or  was,  preserved  by  the  strolling  players 
which  had  long  before  been  discarded  by  the  great 
actors  in  theatres.  One  of  the  best  Hamlets  I  ever 
saw  was  played  by  a  poor  fellow  in  a  field  in  Derby- 
shire, on  a  bitter  winter's  night,  when  the  snow  was 
falling  heavily  outside,  and  a  charcoal  fire  in  front  of 
the  stage  scarcely  kept  us  from  freezing,  and  Ophelia 
had  drunk  so  much  beer  that  her  subsequent  tumble 
into  the  stream  did  not  surprise  any  of  the  audience. 
Why,  by  the  way,  is  O'phelia  treated  by  the  priest  at 
the  grave  as  if  she  had  committed  suicide,  or  as  if  her 


no         Field  Paths  and  Green  Lanes,    cii.  vm. 

death  Av as,  as  he  says,  "doubtful?"  According  to  the 
circumstantial  account  previously  given  Ly  the  Queen, 
it  was  a  very  clear  and  undoubted  case  of  accidental 
death,  whether  according  to  Crowner's  quest  or  any 
other  law. 

The  abolition  of  fairs  has  taken  the  strolling  player's 
occupation  from  him,  and  I  had  little  expectation  of 
meeting  with  any  of  my  old  Derbyshire  friends  in  the 
field  at  East  Grinstead.  The  company,  in  fact,  turned 
out  to  be  a  travelling  circus.  A  woman  was  brushiuo- 
the  skirt  of  her  gown  at  the  door  of  one  of  the  waggons 
or  carts,  and  another  was  dressing  her  child  on  the 
grass.  Their  faces  Avere  tanned  to  a  copper  colour  by 
the  sun.  I  went  up  to  them  and  asked  them  how  they 
had  fared  in  East  Grinstead,  carefully  paving  the  way 
by  giving  the  child  a  sixpence.  The  woman  had  a 
listless  and  care-worn  expression,  but  this  did  not 
prevent  her  from  taking  the  sixpence. 

"  We  haven't  done  very  well,"  said  the  one  with 
the  child,  for  the  other  had  retired,  probably  to  put  on 
her  skirt. 

"  Business  is  bad  at  all  the  theatres  in  London," 
said  I,  in  order  that  she  might  see  she  had  companions 
in  misfortune. 

"  It  has  been  hard  with  us  everywhere,"  she  said  ; 
"  and  the  old  woman  grumbles  at  us  all,  and  says  she 
can't  keep  it  going  much  longer." 

"  Is  the  circus  owned  by  a  woman  ? " 

"  Yes — there  she  is  at  the  door  taking  tickets.  This 
is  our  last  performance  here."  ' 


cH.  VIII.  Hayward's  Heath,  East  Grinstcad.    1 1 1 

"  Where  do  you  go  next  ? " 

"  I  don't  exactly  remember  the  name  of  the  town, 
but  they  say  it's  twenty-five  miles  away  from  here.  We 
shall  have  to  foot  it  a  great  part  of  the  way,  for  the 
horses  are  tired  out,  and  can't  work  in  the  ring  and  be 
on  the  road  too,  day  and  night." 

I  went  over  to  the  tent — the  performance  was  nearly 
over.  The  clouds  were  gathering  heavily,  wild  scud 
was  flying  about  the  sky,  and  there  was  a  south-west 
wind  blowing.  "  You  will  have  rain  for  your  packing 
up,"  said  I  to  the  woman  who  took  the  tickets. 

"  Yes,  sir,  and  that's  bad,  for  we  have  to  put  the  tent 
away  wet,  and  everything  goes  wrong.  Rain,  rain — 
there's  nothing.6iti  rain,"  said  she  moodily  as  she  locked 
up  the  bag  containing  the  money  and  the  tickets,  and 
hurried  off  to  the  door.  The  clown  was  in  the  ring 
making  the  old,  old  jokes  ;  a  man  was  ridjng  on  the 
back  of  the  wild  untamed  steed,  which  was  soon  to  be 
put  in  the  shafts  once  more,  and  drag  the  dejected 
])arty  to  some  other  village  green  far  over  the  hills  of 
Sussex.  The  poor  horse  looked  as  if  he  had  scarcely 
a  \q.%  left  to  stand  upon,  and  the  fearless  rider  seemed 
bored  to  death.  The  "  ringmaster  "  was  indulging  in 
that  species  of  fun  which  a  British  audience  is  never 
sloAV  to  appreciate,  knocking  down  the  clown  for  being 
"  himperdent,"  or  slashing  him  across  the  legs  with 
his  whip.  There  was  no  sawdust  on  the  ground — 
merely  the  green  grass,  turned  up  a  little  all  round  in 
a  sort  of  narrow  trench.  Presently  the  rain  came 
pattering    down    upon    the    tent,   the    wind    howled 


1 1 2  Field  Paths  ajid  Green  Lanes,    en.  vm. 

dismally,  and  the  poor  old  horse  slackened  his  gentle 
canter,  thinking  doubtless  that  the  roads  outside  would 
be  heavy  for  his  night's  journey,  and  cursing  his  father 
and  mother  for  giving  him  a  black  and  white  coat, 
and  thus  condemning  him  to  the  fate  of  making  sport 
for  rustic  children  in  a  circus. 


CHAPTER    IX. 

FROM    PETWORTH    TO    MIDHURST. 

The  House  at  Petworth. — Some  Faces  to  be  remembered. — The  Park 
of  the  Percies. — Cottages  in  the  "  Weald." — Lodsworth  Church, 
Past  and  Present. — An  important  Citizen  of  Lodsworth. — An 
old  Farm. — The  Chestnut  Gatherers. —Cowdray  Park  and  Ruins. 
— A  Page  of  Family  Romance. — Midhurst. 

It  is  occasionally  a  good  plan  to  make  some  great 
park  or  house  the  starting-point  for  a  long  day's  ramble, 
especially  if  the  region  you  intend  to  traverse  is  a  wild 
one.  The  effect  of  the  scenery  is  then  heightened  by 
contrast.  Petworth  is  a  very  suitable  house  to  select 
for  this  purpose.  Although  not  beautiful  externally,  it 
contains  within  its  walls  many  rare  treasures  of  art, 
and  the  park  forms  a  worthy  introduction  to  the  scenes 
which  lie  beyond.  Anyone  who  can  spend  an  hour 
among  the  portraits  which  may  be  found  in  every  room 
of  this  house,  even  without  reference  to  the  other 
pictures,  will  find  his  time  profita,bly  employed.  Take 
the  portrait  of  the  ninth  Earl  of  Northumberland,  now 
in  what  is  called  the  "square  room" — and  a  very  square 
room  it  is — close  by  the  fireside.  What  an  example  is 
here  of  the  art  of  portrait-paintiug  !  What  dignity  and 
melancholy  the  great  artist,  Vandyke,  has  thrown  into 


J 1 4         Field  Paths  and  Green  Lanes.      en.  ix. 

the  expression  of  tliis  man's  face  !  We  seem  to  read 
there  the  wliolc  story  of  his  long  imprisonment  in  tlie 
Tower — of  the  weary  waiting  for  release,  and  the 
gi'adual  extinction  of  hope  and  peace.  The  portrait 
stands  out  so  vividly,  that  one  stands  silently  before  it 
almost  expecting  the  man  on  whom  sorrow  has  left  so 
many  ineffaceable  marks  to  move  or  speak.  It  is  a 
work  which,  when  once  seen,  can  never  be  forgfotten. 
On  the  opposite  side  of  the  same  room,  near  the 
door,  is  a  portrait  of  a  very  different  kind  and  of  a 
very  different  person — Queen  Catherine  Parr.  The 
face  is  hard,  dull,  and  heavy,  but  evidently  true  to  life. 
The  painter  is  Holbein,  and  in  the  famous  "carved 
room,"  a  masterpiece  by  the  same  artist  may  be  seen — 
the  portrait  of  Henry  the  Eighth.  Every  detail  of  this 
wonderful  work  is  a  study,  from  the  face  and  hands  of 
the  subject,  to  the  jewels  on  the  clothes.  The  picture 
gives,  no  doubt,  an  accurate  likeness  of  the  king,  and 
we  see  in  it  a  large-built,  fat,  sensual  person,  with  small 
eyes  and  rather  a  high  forehead,  who  would  look  more 
like  a  drayman  than  a  king  but  for  his  small  hands 
and  rich  attire.  Here  again  the  living  man  seems  to 
stand  before  us.  The  portrait  of  Edward  the  Sixth 
(painted  when  he  was  ten  years  old)  should  be  com- 
pared with  the  likeness  of  his  father — there  are  the 
same  small  eyes,  and  the  same  general  outline  of  the 
features.  The  five  portraits  of  ladies  by  Vandyke  in 
the  white  and  gold  room,  and  Rubens'  curious  picture 
of  tAvo  prelates  kneeling,  are  among  the  other  works 
which  will  live  in  the  memory.     However  hurried  the 


cu.  IX.        From  Petworth  to  MidJmrst.  1 1 5 

visitor  may  be,  he  should  on  no  account  fail  to  see 
Vandyke's  portrait  of  himself,  or  Rembrandt  and  his 
wife  painted  by  the  great  master,  or  the  striking 
portrait  of  Cardinal  Medici,  or  Hogarth's  delightful 
picture  of  Peg  Woffington. 

The  new  picture  gallery  was  still  unfinished  in' 
October,  1876,  and  it  seemed  then  a  somewhat  ill-li^  and 
unsatisfactory  apartment.  In  the  middle  of  the  long 
passage  or  corridor,  near  the  chapel,  the  light  was  very 
bad,  although  the  day  was  a  remarkably  sunny  and 
cheerful  one.  The  tapestry  in  the  hall  has  been  re- 
stored, and  the  colours  look  so  bright  that  at  first  one 
is  inclined  to  suspect  the  antiquity  of  the  work.  The 
grand  staircase  is  one  of  the  noblest  in  England,  and 
the  old  chapel,  said  to  have  been  built  by  Hotspur,  but 
much  disfigured  by  gold  angels  and  cherubim  and 
other  rubbish,  is  well  worth  a  visit.  The  place  has 
a  cold  and  neglected  appearance.  The  magnificent 
carvings  by  Grinling  Gibbons  in  the  large  room  where 
Holbein's  Henry  the  Eighth  hangs,  can  scarcely  be 
properly  looked  at  during  the  short  time  visitors  are 
allowed  to  remain.  But  let  not  the  visitor  complain 
that  he  is  hurried  through  the  rooms  too  fast,  but 
rather  recollect  that  it  is  extremely  liberal  on  the  part 
of  the  owner  to  open  the  house  to  the  public  at  all. 
For  Petworth  is  one  of  the  great  houses  which  are  still 
the  homes  of  the  families  to  which  they  belong.  Lord 
Leconfield  and  his  wife  and  children  live  here  for  at 
least  ten  months  out  of  the  year,  and  often  as  the 
party  of  visitors  enter  a  room  at  one  door,  they  may 


1 1 6         Field  Paths  and  Green  Lanes.      en.  ix. 


see  the  ladies  of  the  family  retreating  from  it  at  the 
other. 

The  various  views  of  the  park  which  attract  the  eye 
in  going  over  the  house  will  not  be  found  to  promise 
too  much.  The  glimpses  from  the  windows  are  not, 
indeed,  so  beautiful  as  those  which  are  the  chief  glories 
of  the  "  Deepdene "  in  Surrey,  but  they  are  very 
striking,  and  bid  one  to  expect  a  lovely  walk  throui>-h 
the  noble  domain  outside.  And  in  this  the  visitor 
will  not  be  disappointed.  The  South  Downs  run  to 
the  left  of  the  park,  only  three  miles  away,  and  they 
help  to  give  the  scenery  very  much  the  appearance 
of  the  country  in  many  parts  of  Wales.  From  a 
grove  of  limes  about  three-quarters  of  a  mile  away 
there  is  a  glorious  view.  Looking  towards  the  house 
— which  at  this  distance  shows  to  some  advantage — 
the  South  Downs  stretch  away  to  the  right,  and  to  the 
left  there  is  a  charming  expanse  of  woodland  and 
meadow,  with  herds  of  deer  grazing  in  the  foreground, 
and  beyond  all,  the  dark  ridge  of  Blackdown.  As  you 
go  on,  it  is  well  to  strike  off  from  the  carriage  drive, 
just  past  the  little  church  at  Tillington,  and  make  for 
the  higher  parts  of  tl)e  park,  keeping  the  "  Prospect 
Tower  "  in  front.  The  ground  at  the  time  of  the  year's 
decline  is  in  some  places  an  inch  deep  in  chestnuts, 
and  the  noble  trees  scatter  a  fresh  supply  to  the 
ground  with  every  puff  of  wind.  From  this  hio^h 
ground  the  larger  part  of  the  immense  park  may  be 
seen,  and  as  fair  a  bit  of  this  beautiful  England  is 
spread  before  the  traveller  as  he  could  well  desire  to 


CH.  IX.        From  Petworth  to  Midlmrst.  117 

behold.  The  Tower  is  worth  climbing ;  from  the  leads 
you  cau  see  for  miles  around ;  to  the  north  of  you 
there  is  a  broad  valley  in  a  semi-circle  of  hills,  and 
far  in  the  distance  you  can  make  out  Mr.  Tennyson's 
house,  on  the  edge  of  Black  down.  The  wild  scenery 
in  this  direction  comes  up  to  the  very  edge  of  the  park, 
and  extends  from  it  far  as  the  eye  can  reach.  One 
wonders  why  the  house  at  Petworth  was  not  built  on 
the  beautiful  spot  where  Prospect  Tower  stands,  rather 
than  in  a  somewhat  common-place  part  of  the  lower 
park. 

There  is,  of  course,  a  more  direct  way  of  going  to 
Midlmrst  from  Petworth  than  that  which  is  here 
described — the  turnpike  road  is  easily  found,  and  is  not 
without  merits  of  its  own.  But  the  route  which  I 
made  out,  and  now  recommend  to  others,  is  by  far  the 
best  for  those  who  travel  on  foot,  and  who  wish  to  see 
as  much  as  they  can  of  the  country.  The  walk  through 
Petworth  Park  is  something  gained — for  although  there 
is  a  carnage  drive  through  it,  yet  the  upper  and  more 
beautiful  portion  is  available  only  for  the  pedestrian. 
From  the  Prospect  Tower  the  continuation  of  the  road 
may  readily  be  seen.  The  woman  at  the  tower  will 
open  the  gate  close  by,  and  the  best  path  to  take  is 
that  which  runs  across  the  common  in  front  of  you, 
nearly  due  north.  You  leave  an  old  white  timbered 
cottage  to  the  left,  after  passing  a  pond,  and  then  the 
path  turns  west,  and  runs  through  a  mass  of  high  ferns 
and  furze — a  specimen  of  the  wild  country  through 
which  one  may  wander  for  days  together  in  this  part  of 


1 1 8         Field  Paths  and  Green  Lanes.      ch.  ix. 


Sussex,  and  the  adjoining  districts  of  Surrey  and  Hamp- 
shire. Very  soon  tlie  narrow  track  takes  us  into  the 
midst  of  a  copse,  Avhich  at  first  sight  does  not  look 
very  encouraging,  but  at  the  top  the  path  trends  to 
the  north-west,  and  a  few  yards  farther  there  is  the 
road,  with  several  old  cottages  on  each  side  One  of 
them,  on  the  left,  has  a  yew-tree  before  it.  This  place 
is  called  River,  or  River  Street,  and  the  common  we 
have  just  passed  over  is  in  part  Upperton  and  in  part 
River  Common.  We  go  past  three  more  ancient 
timbered  houses  or  farms  to  the  right,  and  open  a  gate 
just  before  coming  to  a  yew  hedge,  cut  into  various 
shapes.  All  this  part  is  very  quaint  and  old-fashioned, 
and  few  strangers  ever  are  seen  in  it,  except  perhaps 
an  artist  or  two  now  and  then  in  .summer.  In  the 
autumn  and  winter  it  is  (piite  deserted  by  visitors. 

The  path  by  the  gate  just  spoken  of  leads  down 
througli  a  wood,  and  if  you  bear  to  the  right,  it  will 
bring  you  to  a  wooden  bridge  over  a  brook — path  and 
wood  and  brook,  each  a  delight  to  the  wanderer,  and 
combining  to  form  a  charming  picture.  A  cart  track 
now  runs  up  straight  in  front  of  you,  and  it  is  only 
necessary  to  pursue  that  in  order  to  be  taken  safely  to 
the  village  of  Lodsworth. 

Here  is  another  of  the  nooks  and  corners  of  England 
which  looks  as  if  it  might  have  been  untouched  for 
liutidreds  of  year.s,  except  the  church,  on  which  the 
hand  of  the  restorer  has  fallen  with  great  severity.  Of 
the  ancient  building,  nothing  but  the  tower  and  door- 
way and    part  of  the   timber  roof  remain.     Even  an 


cii.  IX.        From  Pctworth  to  Midhui'st.  119 

old  yew-tree  has  been  carted  off,  and  pretty  coniferge 
planted  around,  looking  like  so  many  Christmas-trees 
in  a  toy-shop.  There  used  to  be  an  open  cloister  of 
timber-work  on  the  south  side  of  the  churchyard,  but 
no  trace  of  it  is  left.  It  has  fallen  before  wind,  weather, 
and  "  iesthetic  influences"  combined.  I  managed  to 
find  the  man  who  had  the  keys.  He  was  a  queer 
little  tailor,  adapted  by  nature  to  play  the  apothecary 
in  Romeo  and  Juliet,  and  was  at  work  in  a  very  small 
shop,  next  door  to  his  house.  When  I  interrupted 
him,  he  was  busily  engaged  in  flattening  out  a  pair  of 
corduroys  for  some  young  hopeful  of  Lodsworth  who 
was  just  going  to  be  breeched.  He  came  out  in  his 
shirt  sleeves  and  slippers,  and  went  over  the  church 
with  me.  It  turned  out  that  he  was  the  "  clerk,"  and 
his  seat  was  close  by  the  wall  as  we  entered.  "I  used 
to  sit  near  the  puljait,"  said  he,  "  but  they  have  put  me 
back  a  smart  ways.  They  alters  everything.  I  suppose 
it's  the  march  of  intelleck."  I  asked  this  ironical  tailor 
about  the  "  open  cloister  of  timber  work."  He  said  it 
had  been  blown  down  and  carted  off.  "  I  remember," 
he  added,  "when  there  were  the  remains  of  a  chapel 
close  by  the  church.  It  was  afterwards  used  as  a 
stable,  but  is  all  gone  long  ago.  You  can  see  the 
stumps  of  the  trees  that  used  to  run  along  side  of  it." 
I  looked  over  the  wall  and  saw  them  plain  enough, 
"  Where  did  the  money  come  from  in  this  small  place 
to  make  all  these  alterations  in  your  church  ?  "  I  asked. 
"Ah,  there  you  puzzle  me,"  said  the  clerk;  "I  can't 
make  it  out.     The  rector,  he  never  let  anything  alone  ; 


1 20         Field  PatJis  and  Green  LaJies.      ch.  ix. 

but  now  he's  gone  somewhere  else.  I  suppose  he  won't 
let  nothing  alone  there.  Bless  me,  what  a  rum  world 
it  is."  "True,"  I  said,  "  very  true;  but  pray  tell  me 
how  it  is  that  you  have  your  workshop  away  from  your 
house.  The  women-folks,  ch  ? "  My  friend  of  the 
scissors  gave  me  a  sly  look,  smiled  slightly,  but 
evidently  thought  it  best  not  to  commit  himself  to 
the  expression  of  any  opinion,  especially  as  his  wife 
was  listening  at  the  open  window.  "  I  call  it  a  very 
rum  world,"  repeated  he,  "  and  so  would  you  if  you 
lived  here.  Dead  and  alive  it  is.  I  makes  clothes  for 
all  around — it  would  never  do  to  depend  on  this 
village  ;"  and  I  could  quite  believe  him,  for  there  did 
not  seem  to  be  half-a-dozen  persons  who  wore  trousers 
in  the  whole  place, — at  least,  not  of  the  male  sex. 

Round  the  road  to  the  right  we  come  to  the  "  Hollist 
Arms,"  a  plain  sort  of  inn,  with  two  or  three  old 
cottages  and  a  little  green  in  front.  It  is  now  neces- 
sary to  take  the  turning  which  runs  to  the  left  of  this 
inn,  and  to  keep  to  it,  not  wandering  off  by  a  some- 
what tempting  looking  road  to  the  right.  Some 
distance  on  you  reach  a  farm-house,  with  a  box-tree 
at  the  corner  of  the  garden,  and  an  old  yew  cut  and 
trained  to  grow  in  the  shape  of  an  umbrella  or  a 
mfjantic  mushroom.  The  box-tree  is  also  trimmed  to 
suit  the  fancy  of  its  possessor.  In  front  of  this  farm, 
the  road  turns  to  the  left ;  but  keep  straight  forward, 
and  you  will  find  yourself  led  down  another  copse, 
to  a  stile,  and  there  across  a  field  in  front  is  the  entrance 
to  Cowdray  Park. 


CH.  IX.        From  Peiwortk  to  Midhurst.  121 

A  party  of  chestnut  gatherers  were  standing  round 
this  stile,  having  evidently  had  a  successful  morning's 
work,  for  two  large  sacks  and  some  smaller  bundles, 
stuffed  as  full  of  chestnuts  as  a  turkey  is  at  Christmas, 
were  lying  by  their  side.  They  turned  out  to  belong 
to  one  family — a  big  brother,  three  sisters  (one  of  them 
rather  a  pretty  girl)  and  three  or  four  children.  One 
of  the  latcer  looked  very  ill,  and  I  asked  what  was  the 
matter  with  him.  "  He  has  never  been  well  since  he 
had  the  measles,"  replied  the  elder  sister,  and  the  poor 
little  fellow  was  blinking  at  the  light,  and  coughing, 
and  evidently  had  a  very  slight  and  precarious  hold  on 
what  my  friend  the  tailor  considers  "  a  rum  world." 
"  Come,  get  on  with  the  bag,"  said  the  brother,  and 
the  poor  boy  roused  himself  and  took  up  his  bundle, 
and  stumbled  along  with  blinking  eyes  and  a  racking 
cough.  I  distributed  a  few  pence  among  them,  and 
received  a  handful  of  chestnuts  in  exchange — the  pretty 
girl  had  all  the  big  ones  in  her  pocket,  and  she  was 
for  giving  me  the  entire  cargo  ;  but  I  had  as  many  as 
I  could  carry,  and  left  the  party  in  the  little  wood,  with 
the  light  of  the  setting  sun  gilding  the  brown  leaves 
all  round  them,  and  they  plodding  their  way  heavily 
along  the  narrow  path. 

Cowdray  Park  is  a  romantic  spot,  not  only  in  its 
present  aspect  but  in  its  past  associations.  To  the  left 
are  the  South  Downs,  now  looking  very  near  at  hand, 
and  "  Chanctonbury  Ring,"  just  above  Worthing,  can 
be  very  plainly  seen.  Some  old  oak-trees  skirt  the 
path,  and  all  around  there  extends  a  solitary  region, 


12  2         Field  Paths  and  Green  Lanes.      en.  ix. 

whicli  seems  to  speak  as  plainly  as  any  historian 
could  do  of  the  decay  and  extinction  of  some  great 
family  which  once  ruled  as  lords  in  all  this  part.  The 
past  history  of  a  place  often  seems  to  stamp  some 
oiitnard  mark  or  characteristic  upon  it,  as  the  byegone 
years  leave  their  traces  upon  a  man's  face.  As  we  cross 
the  public  road  in  Cowdray  Park,  and  go  down  the  path 
to  the  left  hand,  and  mark  the  ivy-clad  ruins  in  front, 
the  thick  belt  of  trees  still  covered  with  the  sad  colours 
of  autumn  foliage,  the  deserted  aspect  of  the  country 
far  away  towards  the  South  Downs,  it  is  not  possible  to 
prevent  the  thoughts  wandering  to  a  page  of  family 
history  as  strange  as  any  which  the  novelist  can  conjure 
up.  In  a  single  month,  the  beautiful  house  of  the 
Montagues,  and  the  last  male  heir  to  the  line,  perished 
together.  The  house  was  one  of  the  most  famous  in 
the  country — its  walls  were  embellished  with  works 
from  the  hands  of  Holbein  and  other  masters,  its 
chapel  was  renowned  for  its  beauty,  and  of  the  glory 
of  its  banqueting  hall  we  ma}'  still  form  a  faint  idea 
from  the  traces  which  are  left.  The  paintings  on 
the  Avails  were  preserved  from  destruction  during  the 
civil  wars  by  a  coating  of  plaster.  But  everything  was 
destroyed  by  fire  on  the  night  of  Septcnd^er  24!th  or 
25th,  1793,  and  Avithin  a  month  a  strange  fixtality 
befell  the  eighth  Lord  IMontague,  who  never  heard  of 
the  disaster  which  had  overwhelmed  the  home  of  his 
fathers.  He  was  travelling  in  Switzerland,  and  deter- 
mined to  make  an  attempt,  with  a  companion,  to  pass 
the  water-falls  and  rapids  of  Laufenberg.     "The  magis- 


A     TUDOR     ENGLISH     MANSION. 
RUINS    OF    COWDRAY — SUSSEX. 


[Pag-g  122. 


CH.  IX.        From  Petworth  to  Midhurst.  123 

trates  of  the  district,"  says  one  account,  "  having  heard 
of  the  resolution  of  these  travellers,  and  knowing  that 
inevitable  destruction  would  be  the  consequence  of  the 
attempt,  placed  guards  to  prevent  the  execution  of  it." 
But  nothing  could  shake  Lord  Montague's  purpose — of 
old  it  would  have  been  said  that  the  dark  fates  were 
resistlessly  urging  him  on.  As  he  was  stepping  into 
his  boat,  his  servant  seized  him  by  the  collar  and  tried 
to  pull  him  out,  but  "  his  lordship  extricated  himself 
with  the  loss  of  part  of  his  collar  and  neckcloth,  and 
pushed  off."  They  passed  the  first  waterfall,  Avaved 
their  hats  and  shouted  in  token  of  success,  reached  the 
second  waterfall,  and — were  never  seen  again. 

Such  is  the  contemporary  account,  and  it  has  been 
repeated  with  few  variations  in  the  different  hand- 
books. The  falls  are  there  described  as  those  of 
Schauffhausen,  but  in  the  Sussex  Archoiological  Collec- 
tion, vol.  20,  p.  203,  there  is  a  paper  by  Sir  S.  D.  Scott 
which  contains  a  letter  written  by  M.  Bossart,  the 
chief  priest  of  the  church  of  Laufenberg.  In  this 
letter  it  is  stated  that  an  old  resident  of  Laufenberg, 
Johannes  Roller,  remembered  the  two  Englishmen 
attempting  to  pass  the  cataract,  saw  them  upset,  and 
watched  them  swim  to  the  spot  called  Oelberg,  "  and 
there,  in  the  so-called  strait,  they  disappeared  in  a 
vortex  or  eddy,  and  were  never  seen  again ;  nor  were 
their  bodies  recovered."  The  account  goes  on  to  say 
that  "  the  banks  were  crowded  with  spectators,  but 
nobody  could  save  the  Englishmen,  who  swam  together, 
endeavouring,  as  it  appeared,  to  lay  hold  of  the  boat 


1 24         Field  Paths  aiid  Gircn  Lanes.      cu.  ix. 

that  was  overset  and  floating  along  the  current,  but 
tlicy  could  not  reach  it.     They  sunk  exhausted  in  the  * 
whirlpool  into  the  depths,  and  the  dog  with  them." 

Thus  perished  the  last  Viscount  Montague  ;  and  it 
may  well  be  supposed  that  the  double  tragedy  which 
had  befallen  the  family  in  less  than  a  month  was  not 
allowed  to  pass  unimproved  by  village  crones  and 
gossips.  It  was  said  that  a  "  venerable  monk "  had 
predicted  the  burning  of  the  house  and  the  drowning 
of  the  last  male  heir,  as  a  judgment  for  the  alienation 
of  certain  church  lands.  It  is  fortunate  for  other 
families  that  this  sort  of  "judgment  "  is  not  of  common 
occurrence. 

The  true  story  and  the  legends  which  have  grown  up 
around  it,  cannot  but  be  recalled  with  interest  as  one 
stands  before  the  ruins  of  Cowdray — still  covering  a 
great  space  of  groiuid,  and  enabling  the  visitor  to  form 
a  faint  idea  of  the  former  splendours  of  the  mansion. 
The  offices  and  outbuildings  escaped  the  fire,  and  are 
now  used  as  workshops  or  barns.  The  outlines  of  the 
banqueting  hall  and  chapel  have  not  been  entirely 
effiiccd  by  time ;  the  windows  are  still  beautiful ;  and 
on  one  of  the  walls  can  be  discerned  faint  traces  of  the 
pictures  which  formerly  covered  them.  But  the  ivy  is 
making  sad  havoc  everywhere — tearing  down  the  stone 
and  brickwork,  and  growing  in  such  thick  masses  that 
in  many  places  it  looks  almost  like  a  wood.  It  should 
be  cut  away  with  a  free  and  yet  judicious  hand.  Ivy 
does  not  make  a  building  damp,  as  some  people 
suppose,  but   it   undoubtedly  helps   to  crack  it.     Sir 


CH,  IX.        From  Petworth  to  Midhu7'st.  125 

Edmund  Beckett  has  a  few  lines  on  this  point  in  his 
"Book  on  Building."  He  says: — "It  is  well  known 
that  nothing  tends  so  much  to  keep  walls  dry  as  ivy  ; 
at  any  rate,  west  ones,  against  which  the  rain  beats 
hardest.  I  have  heard  of  west  rooms,  rooms  which 
could  never  be  kept  dry,  till  they  were  covered  with 
ivy.  It  is  also  cool  in  summer  and  warm  in  winter. 
But  you  must  take  care  that  ivy  does  not  get  into  holes 
or  cracks  in  your  walls,  or  it  will  split  them  to  pieces 
in  time," 

In  front  of  the  ruin  there  is  a  little  bridge,  and  the 
pathway  over  that  will  bring  the  visitor  into  the  clean 
and  broad  old  street  of  Midhurst,  which  can  boast  of 
having  had  a  charter  at  least  as  far  back  as  Richard 
the  First,  and — what  will  perhaps  be  of  equal  interest 
to  the  tired  or  hungry  traveller — of  being  still  able  to 
show  one  good  inn  (the  "  Angel ")  where  a  fair  dinner 
and  a  comfortable  night's  lodging  may  be  safely  counted 
on  by  all  who  need  either. 


CHAPTER    X. 

FROM    MIDHURST    TO    HASLEMERE    AND    GODALMING. 

The  Road  to  Haslomere. — A  Town  half-spoileil. — "  Mine  Ease  in  Mine 
Inn." — Blackdown. — A  Poet's  Home. — The  "  Old  Gentleman." 
— Over  Ilindhead. — Gibbet  Hill  and  the  Murdered  Sailor. — 
The  Devil's  Punch -Bowl.  — Only  a  "  Turn[)ike  Road."— The 
"  Green  Lanes  "  of  England. — Thursley  Church  and  ("ommon. 
—  Last  Stage  to  Godahning. 

The  road  from  Midlmrst  to  Haslcmere  goes  almost 
due  north,  and  for  some  distance  lies  embedded 
between  trees,  and  makes  its  wjiy  up  a  steep  hill. 
Although  the  distance  is  not  more  than  eight  miles, 
the  walk  will  be  found  a  suflBciently  long  one,  for  it 
is  all  up  and  down  liill  from  beginning  to  end.  The 
first  view  that  cheers  the  traveller  on  his  journey  is 
gained  at  a  little  over  two  miles  from  Midhurst,  where 
to  the  right  the  country  sudilenly  opens  and  enables 
you  to  see  as  far  as  Horsham.  "  You  may  almost  see 
the  trains  going  in  and  out  of  the  station,"  said  a  man 
on  the  road,  but  I  am  not  prepared  to  testify  that  I 
saw  the  arrival  or  departure  of  any  passengers  while 
I  stood  there.  A  little  farther  on  you  come  to  Henley 
Common,  and  then  to  Henley  Hill,  where  a  magnificent 
view  greets  the  eye — the  weald  far  below,  and  the  high 
hills,  or  "  mountains "   as  they  used  to  be  called,  in 


CH.  X.      Midkurst,  Hasleniere,  &  Godalming.  127 

front.  Blackdown  here  wears  a  most  imposing  appear- 
ance, and  no  matter  how  far,  or  in  how  many  lands 
you  may  have  travelled,  you  will  be  comj)elled  to  own 
that  you  have  witnessed  few  finer  scenes  than  this. 
Resuming  the  road,  we  reach  a  point  where  the  boun- 
daries of  three  counties  are  said  to  meet,  and  which 
was  once  marked  by  an  inn  called  the  "  Blue  Bells  "  or 
"Sussex  Bell."  The  inn  itself  no  longer  exists.  We 
must  now  keep  to  the  right  in  order  to  avoid  being 
carried  down  to  Haslemere  station,  and  here  another 
rather  steep  hill  presents  itself.  When  this  is  sur- 
mounted, the  old  town  of  Haslemere  lies  below  us,  with 
Hindhead  on  the  north,  ending  in  a  sort  of  cape,  and 
all  around  us  lies  the  wildest  and  most  romantic  regions 
of  the  beautiful  county  of  Surrey. 

The  appearance  of  Haslemere  has  been  greatly 
marred  by  the  new  cottages  and  small  houses  which 
have  been  erected  in  and  about  it — all  of  which  are 
very  abominable  in  look,  mere  wanton  desecrations  of 
Nature's  exquisite  work.  What  conscience  or  feeling — 
let  us  not  talk  of  taste — can  a  man  have  who  outrases 
his  native  land  with  these  uncouth  and  detestable  piles 
of  brick  and  mortar  ?  In  old  times,  they  built  cottages 
which  were  at  least  an  ornament  to  the  country,  and 
artists  still  make  long  journeys  in  order  to  sketch  them. 
The  artists  of  the  future  are  not  likely  to  travel  far  for 
the  purpose  of  copying  the  homes  of  the  labouring 
classes  which  are  now  being  sprinkled  all  over  the 
country.  All  taste  in  design,  all  sense  of  fitness,  and 
all  regard  for  the  surroundings  of  the  house  seem  to  be 


1 28         Field  Paths  and  Green  Lanes.       ch.  x. 

deliberately  sacrificed.  On  the  outskirts  of  Haslemere, 
towards  the  railroad,  there  are  repulsive  examples  of 
this  barbarism.  The  old  part  of  the  town  has  not  been 
so  much  touched  by  the  hand  of  the  nineteenth  century 
improver.  It  is  a  rambling  place,  with  several  inns,  in 
not  one  of  which  can  you  depend  upon  getting  a  good 
clean  bed  for  the  night.  The  "White  Horse"  is  "not 
what  it  used  to  be,"  the  ostler  told  me,  and  for  the 
sake  of  those  who  have  lodged  there,  I  hope  he  is  right, 
for  the  bed  on  which  I  passed  an  uneasy  night  was 
neitlier  dry  nor  clean,  and  the  tap-room  just  below  was 
filled  with  noisy  drovers  who  had  come  to  the  market 
that  day,  and  who  were  now  quarrelling,  swearing,  and 
getting  drunk  over  a  game  of  dominoes.  It  was  with 
great  relief  that  I  turned  out  at  daylight  and  got  into 
the  fresh  air  once  more.  How  glorious  the  whole 
country  looked  under  the  beams  of  the  early  sun !  In 
one  direction  the  dark  heath  of  Blackdown  loomed 
up  like  a  cloud,  while,  in  the  other,  Hindhead  stood  out 
grandly  in  the  morning  light — 

"  the  moni  in  russet  mantle  clail, 


Walks  o'er  the  dew  of  yon  hi<;h  eastern  hill." 

After  a  season  of  hard  work,  or  an  uneasy  night, 
haunted  perhaps  by  sad  dreams  and  gloomy  presages, 
what  relief  is  there  to  be  found  like  the  sovereign  balm 
of  the  country  ?  Who  has  not  felt  the  heavy  load  of 
care  lifted  from  his  mind,  as  the  mists  are  rolled  from 
the  earth  under  the  first  warm  rays  of  the  sun  ? 

On  mv  return  into  the  town  I  met  a  man  driving 


CH.  X.      Midhtu'st,  Hasle7nere,&  Godalming.  129 

some  cows,  and  asked  him  whereabouts  was  Mr.  Tenny- 
son's house  ?  "  Tennyson,"  repeated  he  doubtfully, 
"Tennyson?  I  never  heerd  tell  of  that  name.  There 
is  a  Mr.  Hodgson  lives  up  there,"  pointing  to  Black- 
down.  For  the  credit  of  the  Haslemere  folk,  I  must 
add  that  this  man  came  from  Midhurst,  and  perhaps 
a  poet's  reputation  can  scarcely  be  expected  to  extend 
in  rural  districts  so  far  as  that.  Nor  would  local 
ignorance  of  Mr.  Tennyson's  poems  be  surprising  con- 
sidering that  I  with  difficulty  found  anyone  in  the  place 
who  had  ever  heard  of  the  "  old  beech  tree,"  which 
Murray's  Handbook  reports  to  be  the  "lion"  of  Hasle- 
mere. I  found  this  beech  after  some  search,  and  to  say 
the  truth  it  is,  though  old,  not  a  particularly  fine  tree. 
It  stands  a  little  off  the  London  road,  to  the  left,  about 
half-a-mile  from  the  village,  and  does  not  look  as  large 
as  it  is  said  to  be — 20  feet  in  girth. 

No  one,  of  course,  would  dream  of  going  to  Haslemere 
without  paying  a  visit  to  Blackdown — a  stretch  of  moor, 
knee-deep  in  heath  and  ferns  and  wild  flowers.  The 
views  from  the  upper  part  are  magnificent,  and  it  is 
not  easy  to  realise  that  this  wild  spot,  with  so  much 
exquisite  scenery  around  it,  is  only  a  little  over  forty 
miles  from  London.  In  the  most  solitary  part  of 
the  moor  or  heath,  slightly  below  the  crest  of  the  hill, 
with  all  the  southern  country  lying  below  it,  stands 
Mr.  Tennyson's  house.  I  had  driven  to  Blackdown  to 
save  time ;  and  the  coachman  told  me  that  he  had 
no  doubt  I  could  go  round  and  look  at  the  house. 
I  asked  if  the  family  were  there.     "  Oh,  yes,"  said  the 

r 


I  ^o         Field  Paths  and  G^^ccn  Lanes.       en.  x. 


driver,  "  but  never  mind.  The  old  gentleman  docs  not 
like  to  see  strangers  about  bis  place,  but  he  won't  say 
anything  to  you.  In  fact,  he  seldom  speaks  to  any- 
body, but  goes  walking  about  with  his  head  down. 
Writes  books,  I  believe  —  not  that  I've  read  'em. 
Something  about  poetry,  ain't  they,  sir?"  Such  is 
fame.  The  Laureate's  house  is  lonely  enough  to  suit 
the  tastes  of  the  most  confirmed  anchorite.  On  a  fine 
day,  it  must  be  a  lovely  spot — such  a  view  as  that  which 
extends  southward  is  worth  travelling  many  a  long  and 
weary  mile  to  see.  But  all  days  are  not  fine,  and  in 
rain  or  fog,  or  when  the  piercing  blasts  of  winter  are 
sweeping  over  the  snow-clad  and  frozen  heath,  even  a 
poet's  soul  may  long  for  the  companionship  of  his 
fellow  man,  and  for  a  row  of  gaslights  along  a  bustling 
street.  Mr.  Tennyson  does  not,  it  appears,  put  his 
love  of  Blackdown  to  quite  so  severe  a  trial,  for  he 
o-oes  to  the  Isle  of  Wight  in  winter.  This  close  inter- 
course  with  nature,  this  incessant  connnunion  with 
her  in  the  midst  of  all  her  beauties,  have  added,  it 
cannot  be  doubted,  many  a  gem  to  the  noble  writings 
of  our  great  poet — who  would  have  been  justly  deemed 
great  if  he  had  never  written  anything  more  than 
CEnone,  Tithonus,  and  Lucretius.  Some  such  morning 
as  this  in  October,  wlien  all  the  trees  and  ferns  are 
wearing  the  signs  of  quick  decay,  and  some  such  scene 
as  the  half-savage  one  spread  before  us  here,  may  have 
suggested  that  pathetic  complaint : — 

"  Tlie  woods  decii}',  the  woods  decay  and  fall, 
The  vapours  wei'p  their  burthen  to  the  ground, 


CH.  X.      Midhiirst,  Haslemcre,  &  Godabning.  1 3 1 

Man  comes  aud  tills  the  field  and  lies  lieneath, 

And  after  many  a  summer  dies  the  swan. 

Me  only  cruel  immortality 

Consumes  :  I  wither  slowly  in  thine  arms 

Here  at  the  quiet  limit  of  the  world, 

A  white-haired  shadow  roaming  like  a  dream 

The  ever  silent  spaces  of  the  East, 

Far-folded  mists,  aud  gleaming  halls  of  morn." 

From  Haslemere  to  Godalming  is  a  long  walk,  yet 
for  beauty  I  scarcely  know  of  another  which  can  be 
pronounced  equal  to  it.  People  who  have  only  seen  the 
tamer  parts  of  Surrey  would  be  amazed  if  they  could  be 
persuaded  to  take  this  most  varied  and  delightful  jour- 
ney. The  best  way  to  go  is  to  pass  Haslemere  church, 
leaving  it  on  your  left,  and  then  follow  the  road 
straight  before  you.  It  leads  to  a  common,  from  which 
you  can  see  Hindhead  and  Gibbet  Hill  directly  in 
front.  The  path  upwards  is  a  steep  and  solitary  climb, 
and  as  you  reach  the  top  of  the  hill  which  stands 
between  Haslemere  and  Hindhead,  a  picture  reveals 
itself  which  one  would  not  be  surprised  to  find  five 
hundred  miles  away,  but  which  is  startling  when 
one  thinks  that  it  is  actually  in  the  same  county  with 
a  large  part  of  London,  a,nd  comparatively  a  short 
distance  off.  The  sides  of  the  hill  are  covered  with 
heath  and  ferns,  adorned  with  all  the  varied  colours  of 
the  Fall ;  sheep  are  scattered  over  it  here  and  there,  a 
few  foot-tracks  wander  up  its  side,  like  thin  veins  in  a 
giant's  body,  and  a  small  farm  or  cottage  stands  quite 
alone,  almost  at  its  foot.  As  you  halt,  and  quietly  peruse 
all  the  details  of  this  striking  scene,  you  discern  a  green 


132         Field  Paths  and  Green  Lanes.       ch.  x. 

lane  running  up  the  liill  and  passing  over  through  the 
cleft.  That  is  your  road,  and  it  is  as  well  not  to  try 
any  "  short  cuts  "  Avith  it,  but  keep  to  it  in  a  friendly 
■vvay.  Across  the  valley  it  wanders  in  a  rather  un- 
decided sort  of  manner,  and  then  fairly  settles  itself 
to  its  work,  and  goes  straight  up  Hindhead.  At  every 
step  some  new  beauty  bursts  upon  you.  There  is 
not  a  human  being  near — but  one  house,  a  solitary 
fai'm  far  away  on  the  ridge  of  Hindliead,  is  to  be 
seen.  To  the  left  hand  is  Gibbet  Hill,  where  two 
sailors  were  executed  for  murdering  a  brother  sailor 
on  the  way  to  Portsmouth — as  desolate  and  bleak  a 
spot  as  ever  romancist  dreamt  of.  A  cross  has  been 
erected  here  to  mark  the  site  where  the  dead  male- 
factors hung  on  the  gibbet,  and  close  to  it  is  an  older 
stone  with  the  remains  of  an  iron  staple  in  it.  Can 
this  be  a  part  of  tlie  gibbet  ?  In  Macmillan's 
edition  of  Gilbert  White's  "  Natural  History  of  Sel- 
borne,"  among  the  "  new  letters  "  there  given,  I  find 
the  following  passage,  written  on  the  1st  of  January, 
1791  :— "  The  thunder  storm  on  Dec.  23  in  the 
morning,  before  day,  was  very  awful ;  but,  I  thank  God, 
it  did  not  do  us  any  the  least  harm.  Two  millers  in  a 
windmill  on  the  Sussex  Downs,  near  Goodwood,  were 
struck  dead  by  lightning  that  morning ;  and  part  of 
the  gibbet  on  Hindhead,  on  which  two  murderers  were 
suspended,  was  beaten  down."  The  bit  of  old  stone 
and  the  iron  staj)le  are  far  more  suggestive  of  the  story 
than  the  new  cross,  with  its  "In  luce  spes,"  "Post 
tenebras   lux,"   and    other    affected    and   incongi'uous 


iff; 


fill 


cu.  X.      Midhurst,  Haslemere,  &  Godalming.  133 

inscriptions.  Cobbett  says  of  Hindhead  that  it  "  is 
certainly  the  most  villainous  spot  that  God  ever 
made."  To  the  north  are  the  frowning  hills,  and  far 
below  the  huge  hollow  known  as  the  "  Devil's  Punch 
Bowl/'  into  which  the  two  murderers  rolled  the  dead 
body  of  their  comrade.  It  is  with  surprise  that  in  this 
lonely  waste  one  sees,  between  the  Devil's  Punch  Bowl 
and  the  top  of  the  hill,  a  fine,  broad,  and  well-kept 
road,  nor  is  that  surprise  diminished  Avhen  you  come 
upon  it,  and  find  that  it  is  as  hard  and  smooth  as  any 
road  in  a  private  park  can  possibly  be.  There  are  very 
few  marks  of  wheels  to  be  found  upon  it,  but  abundant 
traces  of  sheep.  This  is  the  main  Portsmouth  road, 
and  to  anyone  who  knows  what  the  roads  are  in 
countiy  places,  and  even  in  large  towns,  throughout 
the  United  States,  this  splendid  thoroughfare  must 
seem  one  of  the  greatest  curiosities  in  England.  For 
the  traffic  of  London  Bridge  might  be  driven  along  it, 
and  even  in  this  steep  and  wild  country  it  is  kept  in 
the  most  perfect  order.  I  declare  that  I  stood  looking 
at  that  road  in  amazement  for  pretty  nearly  a  quarter 
of  an  hour,  and  I  am  inclined  to  think  that  if  I  had 
stayed  there  till  now  I  should  not  have  seen  anybody 
or  anything  coming  along  it  in  either  direction.  Will 
the  tide  of  English  summer  travel  ever  again  turn 
towards  England  itself? 

It  was  now  possible  to  keep  on  this  road  to  Godalming; 
but  observing  a  green  lane  just  across  it,  apparently 
a  continuation  of  the  one  I  had  come  thus  far  upon,  I 
determined  to  take  it.   The  country  now  begins  to  show 


1 34         Field  Paths  and  Green  Lanes.       ch.  x. 

more  signs  of  life  and  cultivation,  and  a  comfortable- 
looking  farm  here  ami  there  is  dotted  about  the 
hollows.  I  had  faith  in  my  green  lane,  although  it 
needed  strengthening  occasionally  by  a  glance  at  the 
compass,  for  it  carried  me  farther  and  farther  away 
from  houses,  fields,  and  even  the  sound  of  a  sheep-dog. 
These  "  fjreen  lanes  "  are  amono;  the  most  curious  fea- 
tures  of  English  scenery — they  are  still  travelled  over 
by  drovers  and  others,  but  the  grass  grows  thick  upon 
them,  and  I  have  wandered  along  them  for  days  in  one 
part  and  another  without  meeting  a  solitary  creature, 
either  two-legged  or  four-legged.  One  might  easily 
imagine  oneself  far  away  in  a  land  which  had  been 
deserted  by  reason  of  pestilence,  or  swept  bare  by  the 
sword. 

The  lane  branching  off  from  the  Portsmouth  road  ends 
by  bringing  you  safely  out  to  Thursley,  four  miles  from 
Haslemere  ;  and  it  would  be  hard  to  say  where  another 
four  miles  of  such  scenery  can  be  found  anywhere 
within  a  hundred  miles  of  London.  Thursley  makes  a 
very  satisfactory  termination  to  this  stage  of  the  journey. 
You  first  see  in  front  of  you  a  primitive  cottage  with  a 
porch  at  the  door,  and  then  a  good  old  church.  It 
seems  a  great  place  for  pigs,  for  pig-sties  line  both 
sides  of  the  road  like  an  avenue  ;  and  as  all  the  dogs  in 
the  village  came  out  to  salute  me,  and  two  young  ladies 
in  the  churchyard  looked  at  me  as  if  I  had  dropped 
suddenly  from  a  balloon,  I  inferred  that  strangers  are 
not  very  common  in  that  part  of  the  world.  Among 
the  gravestones  there  is  one  to  the  memory  of  the  poor 


Midhurst,  Haslemere,  &  Godalming.  135 


sailor  who  was  murdered  on  Hindhead.  At  the  top  of 
it  there  is  a  rude  representation  of  three  men  com- 
mitting the  murder,  and  below  an  "appropriate  in- 
scription "  and  a  "  copy  of  verses."  We  learn  from  the 
latter  that  the  sailor  was  killed  on  the  24th  September, 
1786,  by  "three  Villains,  after  he  had  liberally  treated 
them,  and  promised  them  his  further  assistance  on  the 
road  to  Portsmouth."  The  doleful  history  is  further 
described  in  the  "  poem  " : — 

*'  On  bended  knees  I  mercy  strove  to  obtain, 
Their  thirst  of  blood  made  all  entreaties  vain." 

The  view  from  this  stoue  across  to  the  Hog's  Back 
is  more  attractive  than  the  elegiac  stanzas,  and  with 
that  one's  researches  in  Thursley  may  fitly  end.  The 
road  now  winds  round  to  the  left,  past  the  shell  of  an 
old  pollarded  tree  ;  and  when  you  get  through  "  the 
street,"  it  is  necessary  to  turn  to  the  right,  and  go  on 
till  you  come  to  the  common,  where  another  green 
path,  though  necessarily,  from  its  situation,  less  pic- 
turesque than  the  one  above,  makes  itself  visible  near 
the  public  road.  This  path  finds  its  way  round  by  a 
pond,  marked  on  the  map  as  "  Hammer  Ponds."  At  a 
short  distance  further  on,  we  come  out  again  upon  the 
Portsmouth  Road  w^hich  we  left  up  at  Hindhead — a 
grand  road  indeed,  along  which  it  is  easy  now  to 
reconcile  oneself  to  travel  the  rest  of  the  journey, 
especially  as  there  is  no  other  way.  Through  Milford, 
a  pleasant  village,  lying  near  these  wide  and  attractive 
commons,  and  past  the  railroad  to  some  more  venerable 


136         Field  Paths  and  Green  Lanes.       ch.  x. 

cottages,  a  little  inn  or  two,  and  then  a  queer  old 
market  house  and  a  long  narrow  street.  Here  we  are 
at  last  in  Godalming,  after  a  walk  such  as  you  could 
scarcely  find  in  any  land  save  England,  even  though 
you  searched  the  wide  world  round. 


CHAPTER    XI. 

DORKINQ    AND    ITS    NEIGHBOURHOOD. 

A  Good  Old  Surrey  Town. — The  "Marquis  of  Granljy "  and  old 
"Waller. — The  Dorking  of  To-day  and  a  Hundred  Years  Ago. — 
Dorking  Fowls. — The  Scenery  in  the  vicinity. — "Mag's  AYell." 
— A  Quiet  Eoad  up  Box  Hill. — Brockham  and  Betch worth. — 
The  Holmwood. —Walton  Heath. — The  Mickleham  Downs. — 
Pixholm  and  Milton  Lanes. — Ranmore  Common  and  Church. — 
Over  the  Common  by  Moonlight. — Pickett's  Hole. — "Wotton 
Church. — "Land  Hunger." — Bury  Hill  and  the  "  Nower." 

Most  readers  of  "  Pickwick "  will  remember  that 
when  poor  old  Weller  made  that  fatal  blunder  with  the 
widow,  it  was  in  the  ancient  town  of  Dorking,  at  the 
"Marquis  of  Granby,"  that  he  settled  down.  There  the 
memorable  scenes  took  place  between  the  "  shepherd," 
Sam  Weller,  the  mother-in-law,  and  "Old  Nobs." 
There  are  inns  without  number  in  Dorking,  but  there 
is  no  "  Marquis  of  Granby "  among  them.  It  is 
generally  believed  that  the  "  Old  King's  Head  ".  w^as 
the  tavern  which  Dickens  had  in  mind  when  he  drew 
the  picture  of  the  comfortable,  old-fashioned  bar  in>  the 
twenty-seventh  chapter  of  "  Pickwick."  It  stood  on 
the  site  of  the  present  post-office,  and  some  portions  of 
the  building  still  remain  at  the  back.  There  was 
formerly  a  coachman  named  Weller  in  Dorking,  who 


138         Field  Paths  and  Green  Lanes.      en.  xi. 

drove  tlie  coach,  and  afterwards  the  omnibus  to  the 
station,  for  many  years.  This  estabhshes  a  sufficiently 
strong  relationship  between  Dorking  and  "  Pickwick," 
and  a  more  recent  writer,  Colonel  Chesuey,  has  made 
the  name  of  the  town  familiar  to  thousands  who  have 
never  seen  it.  I  have  an  American  friend  who,  relyino- 
upon  the  hazy  ideas  of  history  which  fill  the  heads  of 
the  common  run  of  people,  is  in  the  habit  of  saying, 
"  Of  course  you  remember  the  battle  of  Dorking  ? 
Well,  this  was  the  ver}^  place  where  it  Avas  fought!" 
It  is  astoni.shing  how  many  persons  there  are  who  do 
not  feel  themselves  in  a  position  to  throw  any  doubt  on 
this  sanguinary  engagement. 

That  Dorking  is  an  old  town  is  very  well  known  to 
all  who  have  looked  into  its  history.  The  relics  of 
former  times  which  still  remain  in  it  have  been  effec- 
tually disguised  by  paint,  whitewash,  and  modern  im- 
provements. Some  years  ago,  a  very  picturesque  and 
venerable  house,  which  originally  belonged  to  a  Dutch 
faiBily,  was  pulled  down,  greatly  to  the  regret  of  Mr. 
Henry  Hope,  of  the  Deepdene,  who  would  have  pur- 
chased it  had  he  known  of  its  destined  fate.  The 
chief  attraction  of  the  town  now  is  the  beautiful  sceneiy 
which  surrounds  it.  The  whole  district  for  miles 
around  is  rich  in  trees,  wild  flowers,  and  ferns,  and  the 
most  melodious  of  our  songbirds  so  abound  that  in 
spring  and  early  summer  there  is  a  perpetual  concert 
going  on  in  the  open  air  from  sunrise  to  dusk.  Black- 
birds, starlings,  thrushes  and  skylarks  are  as  thick  as 
sparrows  in  a  London  park,  and  from  many  a  wood  the 


CH.  XI.     Dorking  and  its  Neighbonrhood.        139 

song  of  the  nightingale  thrills  the  listener  in  the 
stillness  of  the  night.  I  heard  the  skylark  singing 
till  the  16th  of  November,  when  some  rough  weather 
set  in,  with  hard  frosts  at  night,  and  there  was  silence. 
In  the  Redland  woods  the  nightingale  may  be  heard 
all  day  as  well  as  all  night. 

The  lover  of  trees  will  find  plenty  of  occupation  for 
him  in  every  direction.  The  yew  and  the  beech  flourish 
marvellously  in  this  chalky  soil,  and  there  are  many 
fine  oaks,  limes,  and  chesnuts  in  the  neighbourhood. 
The  pine  woods  of  Wotton  have  long  been  famous. 
Those  who  have  seen  the  hill-side  of  Denbies,  in  the 
full  flush  of  autumn,  if  only  from  the  railroad,  are  not 
likely  to  forget  the  splendour  with  which  it  is  clothed, 
especially  at  moments  when  the  sun  strikes  upon  all  the 
varied  colours  of  the  foliage.  As  for  the  climate  of  the 
place,  not  very  much  can  be  said  in  its  praise  ;  it  is  soft 
and  enervating  in  summer,  while  in  the  autumn  and 
winter  the  mists  hang  heavily  over  the  valley. 

The  town  still  answers  well  to  a  description  of  it 
which  I  happened  to  turn  over  in  the  "Gentleman's 
Magazine"  of  May,  1763.  In  little  has  it  changed, 
although  most  of  the  estates  round  about  have 
passed  into  different  hands  since  then.  "The  town," 
says  the  writer,  "  though  not  large,  is  well  filled  with 

inhabitants Though  no  manufacture  is  carried 

on  here,  yet  a  gi-eat  deal  of  business  is  done  with 
regard  to  many  necessary  articles  of  life.  The  streets 
are  wide  and  open,  and  from  its  natural  situation  the 
town  is  remarkably  clean."     This  is  just  as  applicable 


140        Field  Paths  and  Green  Lanes.      ch.  xi. 

to  Dorking  as  if  it  had  been  written  yesterday.  The 
shops  are  unusually  good,  and  several  of  them  are  kept 
by  men  whose  range  of  reading  and  general  information 
would  do  honour  to  any  career  in  life.  Brayley's 
"  History  of  Surrey "  was  wholly  printed  in  Dorking 
by  Mr.  Ede,  who  was  a  chemist  and  "perfumer"  as 
well  as  printer,  and  who  made  more  money  by  his 
bottles  of  scent  than  by  his  "  History."  In  the  latter 
enterprise,  indeed,  he  is  said  to  have  sunk  over  £10,000. 
"  In  the  summer  season,"  continues  the  writer  above 
quoted,  "  there  is  a  great  resort  of  gentry  from  London, 
who  come  to  feast  on  water  sousee  ;  the  mill  ponds 
Avhich  are  numerous,  being  well  stocked  with  perch,  and 
there  being  also  exceedingly  fine  carp  and  tench."  I  am 
sorry  to  say  that  I  do  not  know  where  I  can  recommend 
the  visitor  of  the  present  day  to  go  for  "  water  sousee," 
although  the  proprietor  of  one  or  other  of  those 
excellent  old  fashioned  inns,  the  "  White  Horse "  or 
"Red  Lion,"  might  find  it  not  unprofitable  to  revive 
the  reputation  of  the  town  for  the  one  dish  which  it 
brought  to  perfection.  The  Dt)rking  fowls  are,  beyond 
doubt,  more  delicate  in  flavour  than  any  others,  but 
the  casual  visitor  who  orders  one  is  more  likely  to  get  a 
bird  from  London  than  a  true  "Dorking.''  The  old 
breed  is  now  kept  up  with  some  care  by  the  school- 
master of  St.  Paul's,  Rosehill — most  of  his  fowls  are 
partridge-coloured,  and  have  the  proper  number  of 
toes,  five,  which  characterise  this  variety.  "I  have 
seen  capons  about  Christmas,"  says  the  writer  of  1763, 
"which  weighed  between  seven  and  eight  pounds  each 


CH.  XI.     Dorking  and  its  Ncighbonrhood.        1 4 1 

out  of  their  feathers,  and  were  sold  at  5s.  a-piece."  A 
Christmas  capon  of  that  weight  would  now  be  very 
cheap  at  three  times  the  price.  The  market  is  de- 
scribed as  appearing  "much  less  considerable  than  it 
is,  because  a  custom  has  long  prevailed  of  selling  all 
the  corn  in  the  public-houses  of  the  town  where  it  is 
lodged."  It  is  just  the  same  now.  Thursday  is  market- 
day,  but  no  one  who  looked  round  the  streets  would 
suppose  that  any  market  was  going  on.  The  cattle 
market  is  no  longer  held,  and  the  corn  market,  if  such 
it  can  be  called,  is  chiefly  carried  oh  at  the  "  Three 
Tuns,"  an  old-fashioned  inn  just  opposite  the  "  Red 
Lion."  Perhaps  a  drunken  man  or  two  more  than 
usual  may  be  seen  about  the  streets  on  Thursday 
evening ;  that  is  the  only  sign  of  the  flourishing  trade 
of  Dorking.  A  relic  of  old  times  still  survives  in  the 
custom  of  kicking  a  football  from  one  end  of  the  town 
to  the  other  on  Shrove  Tuesday.  The  shops  are  all  shut 
up  early  in  the  afternoon,  and  the  ball  is  started  from 
the  passage  leading  to  St.  Martin's  Church.  The  game 
is  now,  however,  chiefly  appropriated  by  "roughs." 

Mr.  Urban's  correspondent  is  among  the  very  few 
writers  who  have  made  any  mention  of  "Mag's  Well,"  a 
spot  which  the  compilers  of  all  the  local  guide  books  have 
passed  by  without  a  word.  It  is  the  charmed  spring  of 
the  district,  and  lies  not  far  from  the  tillage  of  Cold- 
harbour.  There  is  a  walk  to  it  from  Dorking,  over 
fields  all  the  way,  starting  from  Bury  Park,  and 
crossing  the  road  at  Milton  Lane.  It  is  not  possible  to 
give  written  directions  which  would  enable  a  stranger 


142         Field  Paths  a7id  Green  Lanes.       en.  xi. 

to  fiud  the  well,  but  some  of  the  older  inhabitants  may 
be  trusted  to  point  out  the  wa}'.  Two  of  the  fields 
which  you  cross  are  covered  in  June  with  the  bee 
orchis  {Oplirys  apifera),  but  the  plant  is  not  to  be 
found  beyond  or  around  them.  Throughout  the  walk, 
however,  wild-flowers  flourish  in  profusion.  The  well 
itself  lies  in  a  wood,  and  it  may  be  reached  by  a  turn- 
ing from  the  Coldharbour  road.  Tlie  supply  of  Avater 
was  never  known  to  fail,  in  winter  or  summer.  It  still 
has  a  certain  repute  among  the  older  inhabitants  of 
Dorking  for  medicinal  properties.  The  writer  in  the 
"  Gentleman's  Magazine  "  says  "  that  the  waters,  used 
outwardly,  are  found  to  be  very  salutary  in  scorbutic 
cases,  and  when  taken  inwardly  are  said  to  purify  the 
blood."  So  also  in  Manning's  "Antiquities  of  Surrey," 
(i.  59<S)  I  find  similar  qualities  ascribed  to  the  spring. 
It  is  "neither  cathartic  nor  emetic,  as  Mr.  Aubrey  had 
been  taught  to  believe,  but  of  great  purity,  uncommon 
coldness,  and,  outwardly  applied,  detergent.  Dogs 
from  the  neighbourhood  are  frequentl}'^  sent  hither  to 
be  washed  for  the  mange,  and  with  good  effect  ;  and 
there  are  instances  of  extraordinary  cures  peiformed  by 
it  in  cutaneous  and  even  scrofulous  disorders."  The 
only  virtue  now  ascribed  to  the  water  is  that  of  being 
good  for  sore  (or  weak)  eyes,  and  I  have  heard  of 
persons  sending  long  distances  for  it  in  bottles  to  be 
used  For  that  infirmity.  When  I  made  a  pilgrimage  to 
the  well,  I  found  the  water,  as  Manning  says,  "of 
uncommon  coldness  " — like  iced  water — and  I  was 
told  that  though  boys  sometimes  go  there  to  bathe  in 


cH.  XI.     Dorking  and  its  Neighbourhood.        143 


the  small  reservoir  of  brick  which  has  been  built,  they 
are  obliged  to  jump  out  almost  as  soon  as  they  jump 
in.  This  discourages  the  visits  of  the  youuger  genera- 
tion to  the  well,  and  the  path  to  it  is  familiar  to  very 
few. 

There  are  many  other  walks  round  about  Dorking 
which  are  not  generally  known,  and  which  any  good 
pedestrian  will  easily  discover  for  himself.  But  the 
beaten  track  is  not  to  be  despised.  Box  Hill  may  be 
taken  in  the  midst  of  the  summer  season,  when  scores 
of  visitors  are  ascending  it  from  the  path  near  the  little 
hotel  at  Burford  Bridge,  in  such  a  way  as  that  the 
crowd  may  be  entirely  avoided.  To  accomplish  this, 
the  carriage-drive  must  be  followed  to  the  point  at 
which  it  turns  for  the  first  time,  where  a  thicket  of  box 
will  be  seen  straight  in  front.  Through  that  thicket 
the  visitor  may  pass  to  the  top  of  the  hill,  by  a  path 
completely  sheltered  from  sun  or  rain,  and  quite  un- 
known to  the  ordinary  holiday-maker,  for  no  trace  of 
his  destructive  march  can  be  found — not  even  a  sand- 
wich paper  or  a  broken  bottle,  whereas  those  interest- 
ing relics  are  as  plentiful  in  other  parts  of  the  hill  as 
bones  in  a  rich  barrow. 

Turn  which  way  you  will  on  going  out  of  doors,  those 
objects  abound  which  are  dear  to  the  heart  of  the 
Englishman  wherever  his  lot  may  be  cast,  whether  in 
his  own  land,  where  he  can  enjoy  them,  or  under  foreign 
skies,  where  the  recollection  of  them  will  at  many  an 
unexpected  hour  sharpen  the  pang  of  exile.  There  are 
the  thick  hedges,  the  green  trees,  the  church  tower 


144  Field  Paths  a7id  Green  Lanes,     ch.  xi. 

grey  with  age,  the  clieeiful  farm  or  homestead,  the  old 
timbered  cottage.  The  air  is  full  of  the  faint  scent  of 
flowers  and  the  songs  of  innumerable  birds.  Even  if  no 
longer  journey  be  undertaken  than  a  walk  to  Reigate — 
six  miles — there  will  be  much  to  interest  the  traveller. 
The  way  to  go  is  through  Betchworth  park,  which  is 
entered  at  a  little  gate  not  far  beyond  the  "  Punch  Bowl." 
The  magnificent  Spanish  chesnuts,  which  were  fine 
trees  even  when  the  j^ark  was  first  enclosed  in  1449, 
will  awaken  admiration  at  any  season  of  the  year.  In 
summer  they  afford  refreshing  shade  ;  in  the  autumn 
they  cover  the  ground  beneath  them  with  chesnuts, 
and  people  come  from  far  and  near  to  gather  them. 
The  path  beneath  these  trees  leads  to  a  carriage-drive, 
and  just  on  the  left  hand  is  another  gate,  which  opens 
into  a  less  frequented  part  of  the  park.  There,  within 
sight  of  the  road,  is  a  noble  double  avenue  of  limes, 
one  of  the  grandest  and  most  beautiful  sights  in  Surrey. 
A  few  hundred  yards  beyond  the  end  of  this  avenue 
the  remains  of  Betchworth  Castle  may  be  found,  almost 
hidden  among  shrubs,  ivy,  trees,  and  a  thick  under- 
growth of  wood.  The  scene  is  quiet  and  solitary,  and 
not  without  its  softening  influences  when  the  dead 
leaves  are  rustling  mournfully  in  the  air,  around  the 
fragments  of  what  was  once  a  stately  castle.  Near  it 
are  two  ancient  yews,  which  fluurished  when  the  castle 
was  in  its  pride,  and  now  stand  over  its  wreck.  Still 
further  on  by  tlie  river  Mole  is  Brockham,  which  can 
boast  of  a  charming  village  green,  and  of  many  a  strange 
old  turning  and  winding  path  near  the  "  sullen  "  stream. 


Dorkingr  and  its  Neio-/ido2crhood.        145 


CH.  XI.       UOTfiing 


Just  past  the  ancient  cottage  which  stands  at  the  corner 
of  Brockham  Green,  a  field-path  entices  you  gently  on 
to  Betch worth,  a  village  which  strays  hither  and  thither 
in  a  desultory  fashion,  and  is  chiefly  hidden  away 
behind  high  walls  and  trees.  When  you  think  that 
you  have  walked  all  over  it,  you  turn  a  corner,  and 
behold,  there  it  is  still  straggling  aimlessly  on  in 
another  direction — you  see  an  inn  such  as  Moreland 
used  to  paint,  a  group  of  crumbling  cottages,  a  melan- 
choly church  and  churchyard,  with  the  weed-covered 
and  neglected  grave  of  Captain  Morris,  who  sung  the 
praises  of  "  the  sweet  shady  side  of  Pall  Mall."  Then 
the  road  passes  pleasantly  on  to  Reigate,  where  the 
recollection  of  ruins  and  churches  vanishes  at  the  sight 
of  a  good  dinner  at  the  "  White  Hart,"  or  of  a  party 
of  pretty  girls  pla_ying  croquet  on  the  lawn. 

The  Holmwood,  formerly  a  haunt  of  the  red  deer,  is 
one  of  the  numerous  commons  which  may  be  found  in 
this  part  of  the  country,  and  many  a  good  walk  may  be 
had  upon  and  around  it.  An  excellent  way  of  reaching 
it  is  to  go  through  the  wood  known  as  the  "  Glory," 
j  ust  above  Rose  Hill,  and  to  continue  through  the  fields 
at  the  bottom.  The  path  either  to  the  right  or  left 
will  lead  to  the  Holmwood  Common.  The  walk  to  the 
old  church  is  a  very  good  one,  or  a  longer  excursion 
may  lie  made  to  Ockley  or  Capel,  both  rather  pretty 
villages.  There  is  a  delightful  walk  in  another 
direction  which  ought  on  no  account  to  be  overlooked. 
Go  past  Burford  Bridge  and  along  the  road  till  you 
come  to  Juniper  Hall,  which  may  easily  be  known  by 


146         Field  Paths  and  Green  Lanes.       ch.  xi. 

the  large  and  beautiful  cedar  trees  in  its  grounds. 
There  is  a  road  which  turns  to  the  right  by  the  side  of 
"Juniper."  If  you  take  this,  and  keep  to  the  right,  it 
Avill  bring  you  out  upon  Headley  Heath,  a  wide  space, 
from  which  practically  one  common  opens  into  another 
for  miles — the  splendid  lieaths  and  downs  of  Headley, 
Walton,  Banstead,  and  Epsom,  are  all  to  be  enjoyed 
in  the  course  of  a  long  ramble.  From  Headley  Heath 
the  course  may  be  shaped  to  Epsom,  or  a  return  to 
Dorking  may  be  made  by  Box  Hill — a  beautiful  walk 
of  nine  or  ten  miles.  On  another  day,  the  visitor  may 
go  again  as  far  as  Juniper  Hall,  take  the  same  road  by 
the  house,  but  at  a  very  little  distance  up  he  must  turn 
off  sharp  to  the  left.  This  will  bring  him  out  upon  the 
Mickleham  Downs,  and  give  him  a  beautiful  walk  to 
Leatherhead.  Or  he  may  go  to  that  comfortable  old 
town  through  Mickleham  village  and  Norbury  Park — a 
very  pretty  road — or  take  the  longer  round  over  Kan- 
mere  Common  described  in  another  chapter.  It  may 
with  truth  be  said  that  the  beautiful  walks  within  seven 
or  eisrht  miles  of  Dorking  are  almost  endless  in  number 
and  variety.  But  it  must  be  repeated  that  in  this  con- 
sists the  sole  attraction  of  the  place.  There  are  few 
families  in  the  neighbourhood,  except  those  of  the  large 
landowners,  who  visit  onlyA\ith  each  otlier.  Dorking 
is  not  a  growing  place,  and  it  is  not  likely  to  become  so 
while  residence  there  is  equivalent  to  complete  isola- 
tion in  the  midst  of  beautiful  scenery.  Returned 
"colonists"  and  others  are  apt  to  think  tliat  a  town  like 
Dorking  is  the  very  place  to  settle  down  in,  but  they 


CH.  XI.     Do7'king  and  its  Neighbourhood.        147 

make  a  great  mistake.  They,  of  all  others,  are  the 
least  fitted  to  stand  the  weary  strain  of  the  small  and 
narrow  tone  and  depressing  social  atmosphere  of  such  a 
spot.  After  an  active  life  in  the  busy  world,  a  man 
who  came  to  live  in  Dorking  would  perish  miserably 
of  utter  boredom  and  dry  rot. 

In  Dorking,  and  yet  so  much  apart  from  it  that  the 
casual  visitor  scarcely  knows  of  its  existence,  is  a  very 
pretty  lane,  with  two  old  timbered  cottages  in  it,  which 
must  have  been  standing  there  for  generations.  From 
the  Box  Hill  station  of  the  South  Eastern  railroad,  a 
path  may  be  seen  running  across  a  field,  on  the  left 
of  the  station  as  you  come  out.  This  will  lead  to  an 
old  mill  and  pond — one  of  the  ponds  which  formerly 
supplied  the  material  for  Dorking's  "water  sousie."  In 
this  pond,  and  in  another  on  the  Betchworth  road, 
there  are  good  jack  to  be  caught  at  times.  The 
cottages  adjoining  the  mill  are  ancient,  and  with  the 
huge  mill-wheel  close  at  hand,  and  the  pond  just 
beyond,  we  have  a  corner  well  worthy  the  attention  of 
the  artist.  Higlier  up  the  lane  is  another  old  cottage, 
picturesque  as  an  object  of  the  roadside,  as  most  of 
such  cottages  are,  but  far  from  being  what  house 
agents  call  an  "  eligible  place  of  residence."  In  the 
summer  they  look  perfect — but  in  cold  and  wet  weather 
they  are  almost  as  damp  as  an  "  eligible  house " 
which  I  once  went  to  see  at  Addlestone,  and  which  I 
found  had  two  or  three  feet  of  water  in  its  lower  floors 
during  the  winter.  It  was  built  over  springs,  and 
nothing  could  keep  the  water  out.     On  sea  or  on  land. 


1 48        Field  Paths  and  Green  Lanes.      en.  xi, 

it  is  not  prudent  to  begin  a  long  voyage  with  two  or 
three  feet  of  water  in  the  hold.  The  lane  of  which  I 
have  just  spoken  is  called  Pixholm  lane — pi'onounced 
"  pixem  " — and  should  the  visitor  desire  to  see  some 
other  specimens  of  ancient  cottages,  he  may  find 
several  in  Milton  Lane,  close  by  Milton  Heath,  and 
adjoining  Bury  Park. 

Anionsr  the  chief  attractions  of  this  neighbourhood 
must  be  ranked  the  "  Denbies "  and  all  the  locality 
surrounding  it.  A  path  across  the  field,  seen  from 
the  station,  leads  into  a  road  close  by  the  lodge  gate 
of  Mr.  Cubitt's  house.  A  little  beyond  this  gate  is 
another  and  smaller  one,  from  which  a  narrow  path 
ascends  straight  to  the  top  of  the  hill,  and  comes 
out  just  opposite  the  post-office  on  Eanmore  Common. 
The  Common  at  another  point  may  be  reached  by  a 
shorter  cut.  After  entering  the  path  close  by  the 
lodge,  open  the  first  gate  you  come  to  on  the  right 
hand.  Cross  the  road,  go  through  the  gate  opposite 
and  either  follow  the  road  right  out  upon  Ranmore 
Common,  past  the  beautiful  deep  dell  or  ravine,  or  take 
a  path  which  you  will  see  on  your  left,  a  few  yards 
from  the  gate.  This  winds  through  a  very  pretty 
wood,  with  glimpses  of  the  valley  here  and  there  on  the 
way,  and  eventually  brings  you  out  upon  the  carriage- 
drive  to  the  house.  Turn  to  the  right,  and  you  will 
soon  find  yourself  upon  the  common.  A  road  or  path 
opens  out  in  front  of  the  upper  lodge  gate.  Follow 
that,  and  it  will  take  you  to  a  small  piece  of  water, 
from  whence  a  green  path  strikes  off  to  the  right,  and 


CH.  XI.     Dorki7ig  and  its  Neighbourhood.        149 

this  will  lead  you  all  across  the  common  in  a  northerly 
direction.  At  the  end,  a  road  branches  to  right  and  left 
— by  that  to  the  right  you  may  make  your  way  to 
Great  and  Little  Bookham  ;  by  that  to  the  left,  to 
Chapel  Farm  and  West  Humble.  Chapel  Farm 
derives  its  name  from  the  ruins  of  an  old  chapel,  said 
to  have  been  used  by  the  Canterbury  pilgrims.  These 
ruins  are  now  very  slight,  much  of  the  stone  having 
been  carried  off  by  enterprising  local  builders. 

The  church  whose  spire,  piercing  its  way  through  the 
trees,  forms  a  landmark  for  miles  around,  lies  close 
beside  the  road  on  Ranmore  Common,  and  although 
small — qidte  large  enough  for  the  population  here- 
abouts— it  is  gi-aceful  without  and  beautiful  within, 
one  of  the  most  worthy  achievements  of  Sir  Gilbert 
Scott.  It  is  evidently  built  to  last,  and  affords  another 
proof  that  good  workmanship  may  still  be  had  if 
anybody  will  take  the  trouble  to  insist  w^qvl  getting 
it.  The  interior  has  been  lavishly  decorated,  and  the 
pulpit  and  communion-table  are  alone  well  worth 
going  to  see.  In  the  church-tower  there  is  a  fine  peal 
of  bells,  which  send  their  soft  and  pathetic  strains  far 
and  near  over  the  surrounding  country.  What  sound 
is  there  which  recalls  faint  memories  of  the  distant 
years  like  the  chimes  heard  from  afar  across  the  hills 
and  fields  ?  Lucky  is  the  man  in  whose  mind  no  sad 
thoughts  mingle  with  the  recollections  which  those 
echoes  awaken  !  The  beauty  of  the  church,  and  the 
musical  tones  of  its  bells,  are  in  harmony  with  the 
gi-een  and  peaceful  graveyard— not  yet  an  overcrowded 


1 50         Field  Paths  and  Green  Lanes.      ch.  xi. 

and  gloomy  city  of  the  dead,  but  rather  like  a  garden 
which  is  tenderly  cared  for,  with  wild  flowers  and 
grasses  inviting  the  mother  and  the  child  to  step  aside 
and  renew  their  recollections  of  the  beloved  who  sleep 
below. 

Northward  from  Ranmorc  on  a  clear  day,  the  Crystal 
Palace,  and  some  of  the  greater  towers  of  London,  with 
the  heavy  body  of  smoke  resting  over  the  huge  city, 
may  easily  be  descried;  and  at  sunset  it  is  a  grand  sight 
to  see  the  wide  expanse  of  hill  and  vale  suffused  with  a 
violet  light.  No  one  who  has  the  opportunity  should 
fail  to  start  from  Kanmore  for  a  walk  on  a  moonlight 
night.  Then  the  whole  country  seems  to  be  wondrously 
transformed.  Box  Hill  looms  up  in  the  east,  with 
streaks  of  silver  dashed  all  athwart  its  dark  summit. 
'J'he  leaves  and  branches  of  the  trees,  especially  when 
autumn  has  thinned  the  foliage,  are  pencilled  out  in 
the  soft  light  like  the  most  delicate  lace- work.  No 
one  who  has  not  paused  to  gaze  at  a  fine  tree,  which 
stands  between  himself  and  the  moon,  can  tell  how  fairy- 
Uke  is  its  beauty.  It  reveals  all  its  outlines  in  bold 
relief,  like  some  picture  seen  in  a  spectroscope.  If, 
after  emerging  upon  Ranraqre  Common,  you  turn  to 
the  right,  and  keep  close  to  the  hedge  all  the  Avay, 
many  a  tree  will  present  itself  in  this  bewitching  light. 
The  road  descends  rather  sharply,  and  eventually  turns 
through  a  gate  into  a  wood — always  to  the  right.  This 
will  soon  bring  you  out  to  some  fields,  where  in  summer 
time  the  corn  and  barley  are  waving  in  the  breeze. 
With  Box  Hill  to  your  left,  you  may  now  return  to 


cH.  XI.     Dorking  and  its  Neighbonrhood.        151 

Dorking  through  acres  of  ripening  grain,  and  will 
presently  mark  a  hilly  field  in  which  stand  four  grim 
old  yew-trees,  keeping  watch  over  the  upland.  A 
weird,  unearthly  look  they  have  under  the  moon,  like 
the  ghostly  sentinels  which  the  poet  saw  pacing  a  long- 
forgotten  battle-field.  One  of  them  has  been  struck  by 
lightning,  and  although  dead,  yet  stands  fast,  seeming 
to  lift  its  bare  arms  in  wild  remonstrance  to  the  skies. 
A  long  line  of  yews  once  marked  the  Pilgrims'  way  to 
Canterbury,  and  on  many  a  lonely  slope  of  these  hill- 
sides, that  line  may  still  be  traced,  as  we  shall  see  in 
other  walks. 

How  many  visitors  to  Dorking  have  ever  been  to 
Pickett's  Hole  ?  Even  the  guide  books  say  little  or 
nothing  about  it.  There  is  no  walk  in  all  this  part 
better  worth  taking.  From  the  Post  Oflflce  on  Ranmore 
Common,  the  road  runs  due  west.  Even  in  July,  a 
fresh  and  invigorating  breeze  is  most  likely  to  be  found 
sweeping  over  this  fine  common.  There  are  few  farms 
or  cottages  to  be  seen,  and  yet  the  handful  of  in- 
habitants look  upon  Ranmore  as  a  place  of  some 
importance,  and  will  scarcely  acknowledge  that  they 
live  in  the  country.  They  are  like  the  printer  far  out 
West.  His  office  was  almost  the  only  house  for  miles 
around,  but  when  he  hung  out  a  sign  on  the  branch  of 
a  tree  for  an  apprentice,  he  was  careful  to  add  the 
important  qualification,  ''A  boy  frorw  the  country 
preferred."  However,  if  Ranmore  is  not  actually  the 
country,  we  are  certainly  near  it  when  we  come  to  a 
gate  which  completely  shuts  off  the  road  to  Horsley. 


152         Field  Paths  and  Green  Lanes.      cii.  xi. 

Go  through  the  gate,  and  take  the  green  path  wliicli 
you  will  see  immediately  to  your  left.  A  thoroughly 
rustic  path  it  is,  with  a  border  of  wild  flowers  and 
grasses  on  each  side  of  it.  Presently  you  will  come  to 
a  place  where  two  gates  stand  opposite  to  each  other — 
pass  through  the  one  to  your  left  hand,  and  bear  round 
to  a  meadow  in  which  you  will  observe  a  foot-track  ; 
keep  closely  to  this  track,  although  it  has  a  suspicious 
appearance  of  leading  to  nowhere,  and  before  long  a 
lovely  view  will  burst  iipou  you.  Close  beside  you  is 
a  yawning  gulf, — the  sort  of  place  generally  associated 
in  tlio  minds  of  country  folks  with  a  far  more  depraved 
and  dangerous  being  than  the  unknown  "  Pickett'" 
could  ever  have  been.  The  gorge  is  dotted  all  over 
with  stunted  shrubs  and  bushes,  and  in  front,  across  the 
valley,  are  the  dark  woods  of  Wotton,  with  the  old 
church  peeping  through  the  trees — as  fair  a  scene  as 
even  the  county  of  Surrey  has  to  offer. 

Towards  this  old  church  the  Avalk  should  now  be 
directed,  down  the  hill  towards  the  brick  railroad  bridge 
(not  the  wooden  one),  with  the  plantations  of  "  Wood 
ToAvn "  in  front.  The  lover  of  nature  will  not  be 
disposed  to  quarrel  "with  this  domain  of  the  Evelyns, 
although  a  man  whom  I  once  met  upon  the  railroad 
bridge  was  apparently  not  by  any  means  satisfied 
with  it. 

"  Fine  view  ? "  said  he,  in  reply  to  a  rnnark  from 
me.  "  Well,  I  don't  call  it.  so.  I  don't  think  it  at  all 
fine  to  look  over  miles  of  land  which  is  kept  up  for  a 
selfish  purpose,  and  does  no  good  to  man  or  beast." 


CH.  XI.     Do7^king  and  its  Neighbour Jiood.        153 

Here,  thought  I,  is  one  of  those  noisy  demagogues 
who  make  out  their  country  to  be  the  worst  on  the  face 
of  the  earth,  without  taking  the  precaution  first  to  see 
how  another  would  suit  them. 

"  I  suppose  this  man's  land  is  his  own,"  said  I. 

"  I  don't  know  so  much  about  that — very  few  of  these 
large  estates  would  bear  closely  looking  into,  in  my 
opinion.  They  were  got  in  queer  ways,  I  can  tell  you 
that,  and  are  chiefly  held  by  men  who  look  upon  the 
labourer  as  they  would  on  a  dog.  What  right  has  any 
man  to  hold  thousands  of  acres  of  land  ?  " 

'  The  same  right  that  you  have  to  that  coat  on  your 
back — that  is,  supposing  you  have  bought  and  paid  for 
it." 

"  Excuse  me,  sir  :  where  do  you  come  from  ?  " 

"  Come  from  ?  Oh,  all  sorts  of  places.  From  America 
last,  if  it  will  do  you  any  good  to  know." 

"  From  America  ?  Well,  now  I  believe  the  land  is 
open  to  anybody  there — to  one  as  well  as  to  another  ?  " 

"  No  doubt,  if  you  have  money  enough  to  buy  it. 
I  never  had  any  offered  to  me  there  for  nothing." 

"  And  here,  two-thirds  of  the  whole  country  are  in  the 
hands  of  a  few  lords  and  squires — one  man  owns  over 
125,000  acres.     Do  you  know  that,  sir? " 

Yes,  I  had  heard  of  that.  My  man  seemed  to  have 
got  the  figures  pretty  pat. 

"  Now,  do  you  call  that  right  ?  " 

"  Pray,  Avhat  are  you  ? "  I  said. 

"  I  keep  a  shop  at  Guildford." 

"Indeed?    I  wish  I  did.     Shop-keeping  is  the  only 


1 54        Field  Paths  and  Green  Lanes.      cu.  xr. 

thing  a  man  can  make  money  at  now-a-days.  Well,  I 
dare  say  there  are  some  people  in  Guildford  Avho  would 
like  to  have  your  shop,  and  wish  much  to  get  you  out 
of  it  and  themselves  in.  What  would  you  say  to 
them  ? " 

"  Say  ?  Why  I  should  say  they  were  quite  welcome 
to  my  shop  if  they  liked  to  pay  for  it.  Why  not  ?  I 
am  ready  to  sell  it  to  you  or  to  anybody  else ;  and  it 
ought  to  be  the  same  with  the  land.  What  I  say  is 
that  if  you  offer  a  fair  price  for  the  land  you  ought  to 
have  it,  and  that  a  few  hundreds  of  men  ought  not  to  be 
allowed  to  monopolise  all  England.  Why  should  not 
land  be  as  free  here  as  it  is  in  America  ?  " 

"  I  have  told  you  before  that  you  cannot  get  it  there 
without  paying  for  it.  And  no  man  would  be  obliged 
to  sell  his  land  to  you  unless  he  liked." 

"  But  it  is  easy  to  get  it  there." 

I  could  only  assure  my  friend  that  I  had  known  a 
good  many  persons  who  had  not  found  it  at  all  an  easy 
matter,  although  they  had  worked  hard  for  it  all  their 
lives.  A  man  may  be  as  well  off  in  a  shop  in  the 
homely  town  of  Guildford  as  in  a  log  hut  in  the  back- 
woods, if  he  only  knew  it, 

Wotton  Rectory  is  enough  to  make  one  forget  all 
the  troublesome  questions  arising  out  of  that  "  land 
hunfjer "  which  is  not  confined  to  Ensflishmen.  It 
stands  half-hidden  from  the  road,  and  a  little  way 
beyond  it  is  the  church  where  John  Evelyn  lies  buried  ; 
a  grey  old  church,  deeply  embosomed  among  trees, 
and  defended   by  a  colony  of  rooks,  detachments  of 


AN    ENGLISH    COIN  1  RV    LlllkcH. 
WOTTON,    SURREY 


CH.  XI.     Dorking  and  its  Neighbourhood.        155 

wliicli  fly  out  screaming  with  anger  at  the  intruder. 
It  is  a  dark  and  damp  httle  church,  having  within  it 
some  interesting  memorials  of  the  Evelyn  family,  but 
not  otherwise  a  tempting  place  to  linger  in.  The  porch 
is  large  and  curious,  but  near  it,  half  blocking  up  the 
park,  is  a  great  ugly  brick  grave — a  dismal  object. 
The  high  trees  outside  necessarily  give  the  church  a 
dark  and  melancholy  aspect ;  and  if  the  visitor  should 
chance  to  attend  service  there  on  a  wet  Sunday,  as  I 
have  done,  with  the  rain  dropping  heavily  from  the 
branches,  and  the  daylight  almost  shut  out,  and  a 
number  of  sleepy  villagers  nodding  on  ■  the  benches 
aroimd  him,  he  will  find  his  spirits  very  much  subdued, 
and  a  presentiment  will  slowly  creep  over  his  mind  that 
some  unutterable  misfortune  is  about  to  overtake  him. 
Nor  is  it  at  all  inspiriting  to  pass  into  the  churchyard, 
and  behold  numbers  of  long  w^ooden  boards  stuck  up 
between  two  posts,  and  bearing  in  large  letters  the 
warning,  "  Prepare  to  Die."  Thus,  in  the  midst  of  a 
summer's  walk,  when  the  thoughts  are  turned  with 
thankfulness  to  Him  who  made  these  beautiful  hills, 
and  clothed  them  with  verdure,  and  has  spared  us  thus 
far  to  delight  in  them,  poor  Betsy  Stubbs  and  Giles 
Gibbs  from  below  ground  must  needs  wail  forth  their 
ghastly  memento  raori. 

' ' Time  driveth  onward  fast, 


And  in  a  little  while  our  lips  are  dumb." 

Is  not  the  tale  told  plainly  enough  in  all  that  we  see 
going  on  around  us,  without  the  raven  note  of  these 
poor  rustics  who  have  long  been  at  rest  ? 


1 56         Field  Paths  and  Green  Lanes.      ch.  xi. 

The  turnpike  road  between  Dorking  and  Guildford 
is  hard  by  the  church,  and  the  return  to  Dorking  may 
either  be  made  through  the  grounds  of  the  "Rookery," 
or  by  Westgate  and  Bury  Park.  Tliat  park,  at  least, 
ought  to  excite  no  discontent  in  any  mind,  for  it  is 
always  most  generously  tlirown  open  to  the  public  by 
its  owner,  Mr.  Barclay.  In  front  of  the  house  is  an 
artificial  lake  which  contributes  to  the  view  the  sole 
feature  of  beautiful  scenery  which  is  lacking  throughout 
the  rest  of  the  district — that  of  water.  The  river  Mole 
can  very  rarely  be  discerned  from  a  distance  in  this 
valley,  and  makes  no  mark  in  the  landscape.  This 
want  has  been  ingeniously  supplied  at  Bury  Hill.  In 
these  grounds,  also,  are  many  rare  and  beautiful  trees, 
and  vast  beds  of  rhododendron.  Then  in  the  park 
there  is  the  "  Newer,"  a  spot  which  must  be  dear  to  the 
memory  of  every  man  or  woman  whose  early  life  was 
passed  in  Dorking.  From  this  gentle  eminence,  covered 
with  ferns  and  green  turf,  there  is  a  striking  view  of 
the  old  town  and  of  Box  Hill,  and  beyond  through  the 
Mickleham  Valley  ;  while  to  the  south  the  eye  wanders 
over  Holmwood  Common,  and  far  away  towards  the 
distant  haze  in  the  landscape,  where  the  waves  beat 
perpetually  against  this  "  precious  stone  set  in  the 
silver  sea." 


CHAPTER    XII. 

TO    LEITH    HILL    BY    WOTTOX. 

Two  Hundred  Miles  of  Old  England.— The  Eoad  to  take.— A  Colony 
of  Sand  Martins. — The  "Rookery." — AVottonand  John  Evelyn. 
— The  Healing  Virtues  of  Trees. — How  to  "  CoiToborate  "  the 
Stomach  and  make  "Hair  spring  on  Bald  Heads." — A  Carefully 
Guarded  House. — Friday  Street. — The  Old  Sawyer. — "Age  is 
Unnecessary." — Through  the  Pines  to  Leith  Hill. — An  Excur- 
sion for  a  Londoner. — Abinger  Hatch. — The  "  British  Grum- 
bler."— Farming  in  Colorado. 

It  is  just  possible  that  a  man  may  go  up  Leith  Hill 
for  the  first  time,  and  find  the  two  hundred  miles  of 
country,  -which  are  said  to  be  visible  from  that  point, 
spread  out  like  a  map  before  him.  But  this  would  be 
an  unusual  stroke  of  good  fortune.  The  chances  are 
that  a  curtain  of  mist,  more  or  less  thick,  will  be  drawn 
over  a  large  part  of  the  scene.  When  the  atmosphere 
is  favourable,  ten  or  eleven  counties  may  be  made  out, 
and  the  sea  is  faintly  reflected  through  Shorehara  gap. 
Even  if  the  distant  view  is  lost,  the -country  near  the 
hill  is  so  full  of  charms,  that  the  visitor  will  never 
think  his  time  and  trouble  throw^n  away.  Let  him  go 
down  among  the  heath,  and  wander  about  the  hollows 
where  wild-flowers  and  ferns  make  these  deserted 
places  bloom  like  a  gar<len,  and   he  will  not  care  to 


158         Field  PatJis  and  Green  La7ies.      ch.  xn. 


strain  his  eyes  to  ^Q,i  a  glimpse  of  the  distant  sea. 
The  view  from  the  tower  on  the  top  of  the  liill  will 
enable  him  to  make  out  a  pathway  through  even  the 
wildest  part  of  the  heath.  For  that  tower  we  owe  our 
thanks  to  a  Mr.  Hull  wlio  built  it  for  the  benefit  of  a 
rather  ungrateful  public,  who  have  amused  themselves 
ever  since  by  breaking  the  windows  in  it,  and  scratching 
their  names  upon  its  walls.  Mr.  Hull,  not  anticipating 
all  this,  desired  to  be  buried  in  his  tower,  and  there 
accordingl}^  he  was  laid  to  rest  above  a  hundred  years 
ago.  But  the  "  neighbouring  gentry,"  thinking  perhaps 
that  he  might  get  out,  took  it  into  their  heads  to  brick 
up  the  tower;  and  when  it  was  resolved  to  re-open  it 
a  few  years  ago,  it  was  found  that  the  "  bricking  up" 
process  had  been  done  so  effectually,  that  neither  pick- 
axe nor  crow-bar  could  make  the  slightest  impression 
upon  it.  Another  tower  was  therefore  tacked  to  the 
old  one,  and  a  woman  may  generally  be  found  there 
in  charge  of  it,  able  to  supply  the  visitor  with  such 
gently  stimulating  refreshments  as  ginger-beer  or 
lemonade. 

About  two  miles  from  Dorking,  just  below  the  hill 
leading  from  Westgate,  there  is,  at  a  turn  of  the  road, 
a  large  sand-bank  full  of  martins'  nests — many  colonies 
of  martins  may  be  seen  in  this  part  of  the  country,  but 
this  is  one  of  the  largest  and  most  conveniently  placed 
for  purposes  of  observation.  A  little  beyond  this  bank 
there  is  a  gate  from  which  a  very  pleasant  path  for 
pedestrians,  as  well  as  a  bridle  path,  runs  through  the 
grounds  of  the  "  Rookery  " — a  house  in  which  "  Parson 


CH.  XII.  To  Leith  Hill  by   Wotton.  159 

Malthus  "  was  born,  and  wliicli  is  now  occupied  by  Mr. 
Fuller,  a  banker.  The  house  itself  has  nothing  to  boast 
of,  but  the  deep  woods  and  lovely  gardens  amid  which  it 
is  placed  make  it  an  interesting  spot,  and  it  is  always 
much  pleasanter  to  walk  through  this  estate  than  along 
the  turnpike  road.  In  point  of  distance  there  is  not 
much  difference  between  the  two,  but  the  road  is  dull 
and  hilly,  whereas  the  grounds  of  the  "  Rookery  "  are 
charming.  The  trees,  whether  seen  from  far  or  near, 
have  all  the  appearance  of  forming  part  of  a  large  and 
natural  forest,  and  in  early  summer  the  gardens  in 
front  of  the  house  are  ablaze  with  rhododendron — a 
favourite  plant  in  Surrey.  The  path,  at  all  times  open 
to  the  visitor,  winds  round  very  close  to  the  house — so 
close  as  to  suggest  the  idea  of  trespass,  with  all  the 
pains  and  penalties  which  wait  upon  that  dark  crime. 
But  it  is  all  right — the  visitor  need  fear  nothing. 
From  the  house  the  path  goes  up  a  slope  and  through 
a  lovely  green  wood,  and  then  passes  across  a  field  into 
a  carriage  drive.  We  are  now  on  the  Tillingbourne 
estate,  and  the  visitor  may  please  himself  whether  he 
will  go  by  Broadmoor  to  Leith  Hill,  and  see  a  small 
waterfall — a  pretty  road  enough — or  by  Wotton.  The 
latter  is  by  far  the  best  route.  Having,  then,  come  out 
at  the  carriage  drive,  turn  to  the  right,  and  go  straight 
on  till  you  reach  the  inn  known  as  Wotton  Hatch, 
on  the  main  road  to  Guildford.  The  lodge  gates  of 
Wotton  are  a  little  beyond  the  "  Hatch,"  but  go  along 
the  road  till  you  reach  a  stile  on  the  left  hand,  leading 
to   a  meadow.      Get    over,   and    from    thence   a   few 


i6o         Field  PatJis  and  Green  Lanes,      ch.  xn. 

minutes'  walk  -will  place  you  full  in  front  of  Wotton 
House,  on  the  only  high  ground  from  which  a  good 
view  of  the  whole  of  it  can  be  obtained — whereas  if 
you  turn  in  at  the  lodge  gates,  and  follow  the  carriage 
drive,  the  effect  is  spoiled  by  your  being  led  to  the 
house  on  the  lowest  level,  and  at  the  point  where  it  is 
least  worthy  of  admiration. 

Wotton  is  an  irregular  red-brick  mansion,  largely 
modern,  having  big  patches  stuck  on  it  here  and  there 
with  a  sublime  disregard  of  plan,  harmony,  or  effect. 
It  looks  somewhat  like  a  gentleman's  house  turned 
into  an  infirmary,  and  stands  on  the  very  lowest  part 
of  the  estate,  so  that  from  every  point  the  water  must 
drain  down  towards  it.  The  central  part  alone  is 
connected  with  the  memory  of  John  Evelyn.  The 
author  of  Sylva  and  the  well  known  Memoirs  was 
much  attached  to  the  house,  as  well  as  to  his  "  own 
sweet  county  of  Surrey"  in  general,  the  beauty  of 
which  perhaps  struck  him  all  the  more  because  of 
his  long  residence  at  Deptford.  There  is  no  country 
near  Deptford  which  can  afford  to  be  looked  upon 
the  same  day  as  Wotton.  No  wonder,  therefore,  that 
Evelyn  delighted  in  the  home  which  only  became  his 
when  he  was  some  distance  advanced  on  the  journey 
of  life.  "  I  will  say  nothing,"  he  writes  in  his  Diary 
(Vol.  I.  pp.  2,  3)  "  of  the  ayre,  because  the  praeemiuence 
is  universally  given  to  Surrey,  the  soil  being  dry  and 
sandy  ;  but  I  should  spcake  much  of  the  gardens, 
fountaines,  and  groves  that  adorne  it,  were  they  not 
as  frenerally  knowne  to  be  amongst  the  most  natural 


CH.  XII.         To  Lcitk  Hill  by   IVoiton.  i6i 

and  (till  tins  later  and  universal  luxury  of  the  whole 
nation,  since  abounding  in  rich  expenses)  the  most 
magnificent  that  England  afforded,  and  which  indeede 
gave  one  of  the  first  examples  to  that  elegancy  since 
so  much  in  vosjue,  and  follow'd  in  the  managing  of 
their  waters,  and  other  ornaments  of  that  nature.  Let 
me  add  the  contiguity  of  five  or  six  Manners,  the 
patronage  of  the  livings  about  it,  and,  what  is  none 
of  the  least  advantages,  a  good  neighbourhood." 
When  this  was  Avritten  the  estate  seems  to  have 
been  worth  about  £4,000  a  year,  and  Mr.  Evelyn  was 
evidently  a  good  manager.  A  property  was  not  likely 
to  deteriorate  in  his  hands.  He  made  an  etching  of 
the  house,  which  is  given  in  the  first  edition  of  his 
Memoirs  —  scarcely  any  resemblance  can  be  traced 
between  that  and  the  present  Wotton. 

The  gardens  are  formed  in  terraces  at  the  back  of 
the  house.  There  are  many  fine  beeches  on  the  estate 
— one  particular  tree  of  unusual  size — but  the  pines 
lord  it  all  over  the  rest.  In  one  part  there  is  a  pine- 
wood  almost  as  deep  and  dark  as  the  traveller  may 
find  in  Maine  or  New  Hampshire.  The  author  of 
Sylva  was  a  great  admirer  of  the  pine,  and  once 
more  proved  that  he  was  a  shrewd  business  man,  as 
well  as  a  great  lover  of  the  picturesque,  in  recom- 
mending a  more  frequent  planting  of  that  tree  than 
was  common  in  his  day.  He  ascribed  wonderful 
virtues  to  it,  and  declared  that  its  bark  would  heal 
ulcers,  and  that  the  "distilled  water  of  the  green 
cones  takes  awav  the  wrinkles  of  the  face  " — a  dis- 


1 62         Field  Paths  and  Green  Lanes,      en.  xii. 

covery  that  cannot  be  generally  known.  "  In  .sum," 
he  says,  "they  are  plantations  which  exceeclingly 
improve  the  air  by  their  odoriferous  and  balsamical 
emissions,  and  for  ornament  create  a  perpetual  .spring 
where  they  are  plentifully  propagated."  But  the 
squire  of  Wotton  found  wondrous  medicinal  properties 
in  other  varieties  of  trees.  Thus,  an  oil  extracted 
from  the  ash  tree  is  good  for  the  tooth-ache  and 
for  "rot  of  the  bones."  Moreover,  he  confirms  a 
common  superstition  which  lasted  long  after  his 
time,  and  perhaps  lingers  still  in  some  parts  of  the 
country,  when  he  says — "  I  have  heard  it  afKrmed 
witli  great  confidence,  and  upon  experience,  that  the 
ruptui'e  to  which  many  children  are  obnoxious  is 
healed  by  passing  the  infant  through  a  wide  cleft 
made  in  IIk;  l)ole  or  stem  of  a  growing  ash  tree  ;  it 
is  then  carried  a  second  time  round  the  ash,  and 
caused  to  repass  the  same  aperture  as  before."  Again, 
we  are  assured  that  the  water  of  the  hu.sks  of  walnuts 
is  "sovereign  against  all  pestilential  infections,  and 
that  of  the  leaves  to  mundify  and  heal  inveterate 
ulcer.s."  The  "  distillation  of  its  leaves  with  honey 
and  urine  makes  hair  spring  on  1);(1(1  heads  " — a  queer 
remedy  for  baldness,  but  doubtless  quite  as  efficacious 
as  tlie  mixtures  which  importunate  hair-dressers  try- 
to  force  upon  eveiy  unhaj^py  mortal  whose  head- 
covering  is  deserting  him.  The  fruit  of  the  service 
tree  " corroborates  the  stomach;"  the  lime  tree  is  "of 
admirable  effect  against  the  epilepsy,"  and  the  distilled 
water  thereof  is  good  for  apoplexy  and  gravel.     Wine 


cH.  xir.  To  LeitJi  Hill  by   Wotton.  i6 


o 


made  from  the  birch  tree  cures  "  cousumptions,"  but 
we  are  to  understand  that  these  remedies  are  only- 
recommended  en  amateur.  "Quacking,"  says  the 
worthy  man,  "  is  not  my  trade ;  I  speak  only  here  as 
a  plain  husbandman  and  a  simple  forester,  out  of  the 
limits  whereof  I  hope  I  have  not  uupardonably  trans- 
gressed." Certain  it  is  that  his  injunctions  as  to  the 
duty  of  a  landowner  to  plant  trees  are  scrupulously 
followed  on  his  own  property  to  this  day.  There  are 
no  woods  in  the  county  finer  than  those  of  Wotton,  and 
the  annual  sales  of  timber  on  the  estate  must  bring  in 
a  very  handsome  sum  of  money. 

The  house  contains  many  interesting  relics,  among 
them  the  prayer-book  said  to  have  been  used  by 
Charles  the  First  on  the  scaffold.  "  The  leaves  are 
stained  with  the  king's  blood,"  so  I  have  been  told  by 
one  of  the  very  few  who  have  been  permitted  to  see 
the  book.  In  the  library  there  are  many  of  Evelyn's 
books  and  manuscripts,  but  the  visitor  need  not  hope 
to  see  this  room  or  any  other  part  of  the  house.  A 
written  request  to  be  allowed  this  privilege  does  not 
even  receive  the  scant  courtesy  of  an  answer.  Yet  it 
is  not  unreasonable  for  the  pilgrim  to  wish  to  see  a  few 
of  the  personal  memorials  of  the  man  who  knew 
Charles  the  First,  contrived  to  avoid  suspicion  during 
the  Protectorate,  was  intimate  with  Charles  the  Second, 
saw  James  the  Second  fly  from  the  throne,  and  was 
among  the  first  to  kiss  the  hand  of  William.  But  the 
door  is  closed  in  the  face  of  all,  gentle  or  simple,  scholar 
or  peasant.     The  stranger,  therefore,  must  make  the 


164         Field  Pal/is  and  Green  Lanes,     cu.  xii. 

most  of  the  road  over  which  the  public  have  a  right 
of  way,  and  his  best  plan  is  to  take  a  path  which 
runs  by  the  side  of  the  house,  and  leaves  it  on  the 
right  Ivind.  This  affords  an  occasional  glimpse  of  the 
gardens,  and  leads  out  to  a  quaint  and  most  interesting 
spot  called  Friday  Street,  for  which  we  may  look  in 
vain  on  the  one-inch  ordnance  map.  Yet  it  is  a 
veritable  street — a  thoroughfare  leading  from  one  place 
to  another,  but  so  primitive  in  all  its  "  belongings " 
that  in  coming  upon  it  one  seems  suddenly  to  have 
been  put  back  a  couple  of  hundred  years  in  English 
history.  It  lies  in  a  sort  of  ravine,  with  a  large  pond 
at  one  end  of  it,  and  beyond  a  few  ancient  and  pic- 
turesque cottages.  It  has  a  totally  "  untouched  look," 
and  with  its  beautiful  hills  and  trees,  among  which  it 
lies  hidden  like  a  village  over  which  some  wizard  has 
cast  a  spell,  there  is  no  place  within  the  compass  of  a 
day's  journey  which  Avill  more  delight  the  lover  of  those 
half-forgotten  nooks  and  corners  of  "  Old  England," 
now  fast  disappearing  before  the  invincible  march  of 
time  and  improvement. 

"  Fish,  sir  ? "  said  an  old  man  whom  I  met  in  this 
out-of-thc-world  street,  "  oh,  yes,  there  are  plenty  of 
them.  Pike?  No,  trout — big  trout,  only  no  one  dares 
catch  'em.  You  don't  get  anything  for  nothing  about 
here.  He  (no  name  mentioned)  says  that  he  loses  by 
this  'ere  estate,  and  that  it  costs  more'n  it's  worth  to 
keep  it  up.  Likely,  ain't  it  ?  But  that's  when  you 
want  anything  done  to  your  cottage.  Which  road  is 
the  best  for  you  to  take  ?     Let  me  walk  with  you,  sir. 


CH.  xii.  To  Leith  Hill  by    Wot  ton.  165 

and  show  you.  Oh,  it  don't  matter,  I  ain't  got  nothing 
to  do.  I  was  a  sawyer  up  in  them  woods  for  five-and- 
forty  year,  but  now  I'm  losing  the  sight  of  my  eyes, 
and  feel  shiftless  like.  I've  got  one  son  out  in  New 
York,  so  he  can't  do  nothing  for  me.  What  part  of 
New  York?  Well,  I  can't  rightly  tell— I  think  in 
Canady.  He's  a  doin'  well — they  say  you  can  have 
your  own  cottage  out  there.  If  you  pay  for  it  ?  Ah, 
but  here  you  can't  have  it  whether  you  could  pay  for  it 
or  not.  Do  you  suppose  lie  would  sell  one  of  them 
there  cottages?  Why  should  he,  do  you  say,  sir? 
Well,  I  can't  argy  it,  not  being  a  scholard.  I  shouldn't 
keer  if  only  one  of  my  eyes  would  last  my  time,  but 
I'm  obliged  to  wear  a  patch  over  this  'ere  left  'un 
(pointing  to  it),  because  else  something  would  run  into 
him.  He  won't  shut  any  more  when  he  goes  near  any- 
thing, and  if  I  didn't  cover  him  up  he  would  run  into 
a  tree  or  anything  that  came  in  his  way.  Have  I  any 
young  children?  No,  they  are  all  growed  up,  and  what 
good  am  I  to  them  ?  I  can't  work  any  more,  but  (he 
repeated  this  as  if  talking  to  himself)  I  shouldn't  keer 
if  this  'ere  left  'un  would  do  a  little  while  longei',  but 
he  gets  darker  every  day,  and  he  would  aLways  be 
runnin'  into  something  if  I  didn't  cover  him  up."  Poor 
old  sawyer !  Landor's  pathetic  lines  came  into  my 
mind  as  I  looked  on  his  wrinkled  and  sorrow-stricken 
face : 

"  Is  it  not  better  at  an  early  hour 

In  its  calm  cell  to  rest  the  weary  head, 
While  birds  are  singing,  and  while  blooms  the  bower, 
Than  sit  the  fire  out,  and  go  starved  to  bed  ?  " 


i66         Field  Paths  and  Green  Lanes,      en.  xn. 

From  Friday  Street  I  struck  up  through  the  pine- 
woods  to  the  right,  confident  that  they  must  bring  me 
out  somewhere  in  the  direction  of  Leith  Hill.  I  had 
taken  the  "bearings"  of  my  destination  before  I 
started,  and  in  such  cases  as  this  there  is  no  better 
plan  than  to  trust  to  the  compass,  and  go  on  until  you 
reach  the  mark  you  are  aiming  at.  You  may  wander 
a  little  astray  here  and  there,  but  are  sure  to  come  out 
riglit  in  the  end.  The  track  in  the  fir-wood  brought 
me  upon  a  high  road,  skirted  with  tall  pines  on  each 
side;  and  this  I  followed  until  1  came  to  a  keeper's 
lodge  on  the  left,  and  heathy  ground  stretching  away 
beyond  it.  Presently  1  detected  another  foot-track, 
and  several  old  cart-ruts  through  the  heath.  I  cut 
into  the  foot-track,  and  soon  found  myself  wandering 
over  a  sort  of  moor,  with  paths  straggling  awa}-  in 
opposite  directions.  Into  one  or  two  of  these  I  got 
"  switched  off,"  and  found  that  I  had  arrived  at  nothing 
more  wonderful  than  a  gravel-pit  or  a  clearing  where 
they  had  been  cutting  wood  and  furze.  I  made,  how- 
ever, constantly  for  the  rising  ground  wherever  I  saw 
any,  and  at  last  the  tower  came  in  sight,  and  I  steered 
for  that  through  thick  brushwood  and  heath.  Other 
hills  soon  began  to  make  their  appearance — the  familiar 
range  between  Dorking  and  Guildford,  Box  Hill,  and 
then  an  immense  landscape  was  suddenly  unrolled  far 
below,  with  a  few  farms  and  churches  at  long  intervals. 
It  was  a  clear  day — only  out  by  the  horizon  was 
there  a  little  mist,  such  as  one  may  notice  at  sea 
in  the  early  morning  before  the  sun  has  risen  more 


cii.  XII.  To  Lcitli  Hill  by   Wotion.  ibj 

than  a  few  feet  above  the  water.  There  are  many  fine 
views  to  be  had  in  the  county  of  Surrey  from  various 
points,  but  none  so  gi-and  or  majestic  as  this — it  almost 
takes  away  one's  breath  to  look  around,  and  see  this 
vast  expanse  of  "  mellow "  English  land,  green  and 
beautiful  Avherever  the  eye  rests  upon  it.  It  is  a 
picture  which  stamps  itself  indelibly  on  the  memory, 
but  a  man  should  no  more  try  to  describe  it  than  he 
should  try  his  hand  on  Niagara  or  the  Himalayas. 

This  wide-spread  heath  abounds  with  beautiful 
walks,  some  leading  down  into  deep  hollows,  others 
into  woods,  and  there  is  one  road  by  which  a  carriage 
may  be  driven  close  to  the  tower  itself.  No  one  should 
fail  to  go  to  the  top  of  the  tower — the  additional 
elevation  adds  much  to  the  extent  of  the  view.  A 
glorious  path  over  the  hill  leads  to  Coldharbour,  a 
villasfe  able  to  boast  of  an  almost  unrivalled  situation. 
There  is  a  grocer's  shop,  a  very  small  place,  with  a  view 
from  its  windows  which  the  owner  of  the  proudest 
mansion  in  England  well  might  envy,  and  a  little  farther 
on  the  Coldharbour  Riad  is  a  plain  but  comfortable 
little  inn,  where  a  modest  luncheon  may  be  obtained — 
a  pedestrian's  luncheon,  not  fit  for  what  the  people  call 
"  carriage  folks."  In  August  and  September  the  whole 
of  Leith  Hill,  and  the  country  round  about  it,  is 
covered  with  the  purple  bloom  of  the  heath,  and  the 
jaded  Londoner  would  find  it  well  worth  his  while  to 
spare  a  morning  or  an  afternoon  to  run  down  and  see 
this  beautiful  sight.  I  will  suggest  to  him  a  plan  by 
which  he  can  easily  manage  it.     Let  him  take  the  train 


i6S         Field  Paths  and  Grcai  Lanes,     en.  xn. 

from  Victoria  to  Holmwood  Station,  and  walk  from 
thence  through  Tanhurfct  (Mr.  Bosanquet's  park)  to 
Leith  Hill.  There  is  no  possibility  of  mistaking  the 
road — Coldharbour  may  be  seen  from  the  platform  of 
the  Holmwood  Station,  and  the  station-master  will 
point  out  a  path  across  a  field  which  brings  you  out 
close  to  Tanhurst.  From  thence  the  road  goes,  with 
exquisite  views  at  intervals,  to  Coldharbour,  and  close 
b}'  the  church  is  a  path  running  up  tlie  side  of  Leith 
Hill.  Having  spent  an  hour  or  so  about  the  tower,  a 
path  on  the  other  side — there  are  two  or  three,  but  the 
woman  at  the  tower  will  show  the  right  one  ;  it  is 
the  ivldest — -will  lead  through  the  p'mes  down  to 
Abinger  Churcli,  opposite  to  which  there  is  a  fine 
specimen  of  an  old-fashioned  country  inn,  the  "Abinger 
Hatch."  The  sign-post  in  front  of  it  is  almost  worn 
away  by  time,  and  close  by  are  the  old  stocks  and 
whipping-post,  which  were  never  used,  because  the 
people  of  Abinger  have  always  been  so  good.  The 
churcli  has  been  restored,  but  forms  a  welcome  object 
in  the  landscape.  The  inn  is  just  as  it  was  when  first 
built,  and  when  that  was  I  do  not  know.  I  asked  the 
landlady,  and  she  said  it  was  very  old — older  than  any 
of  the  people  about  there.  As  a  rule,  this  is  about  tlie 
utmost  idea  of  antiquity  which  I  have  found  in  the 
minds  of  the  occupants  of  old  cottages  or  houses.  "  It 
is  very  old — I  have  lived  here  fifty  years."  The  inn  at 
Abinger  is  more  than  fifty  years  old,  but  very  comfort- 
able accommodation  may  still  be  found  there.  We.  will 
suppose  the   Londoner  enjoying  his  luncheon  in  the 


CH.  XII.         To  Leith  Hill  by   Wotton.  169 

little  parlour  overlooking  the  pretty  garden,  and  when 
he  is  ready,  he  may  take  the  road  over  the  common  to 
the  Gomshall  Station  on  the  South  Eastern  Railroad, 
the  entire  distance  between  the  two  stations  beiner 
about  seven  miles,  making  ample  allowance  for  a  little 
rambling  to  and  fro  on  Leith  Hill.  By  properly  timing 
his  trains,  any  man  may  accomplish  this  delightful 
excursion  in  the  course  of  a  summer's  afternoon,  and 
how  could  he  spend  his  time  to  greater  advantage  ? 
Not  by  lounging  about  London  streets,  or  chatteringin 
a  club,  or  even  by  perusing  the  latest  infallible  dis- 
quisition of  our  dear  friend  the  "  able  editor." 
-  The  return  journey  to  Dorking  is  best  made  by  the 
Coldharbour  Road,  past  the  "Plough  Inn,"  for  it  is  all 
down  hill,  and  only  about  three  miles  from  the  village 
to  the  town.  On  this  road  I  fell  into  conversation 
with  a  man  who  was  Avalking  along  b}''  the  side  of  his 
horse  and  cart,  and  whom  I  found  boiling  over  with 
complaints  about  everything  on  the  earth  and  above  it 
— a  true  British  grumbler.  The  weather  was  bad — it 
was  a  lovely  day  in  June — and  the  crops  were  certain 
to  be  bad  ;  England  was  not  worth  living  in.  "  What 
was  the  good  of  trying  to  farm  in  such  a  country  as 
this,  where  everything  is  either  scorched  up  with  the  sun 
or  drownded  with  the  rain?"  And  so  he  went  on.  I 
thought  of  a  little  account  of  farming  in  another  land 
which  I  had  read  a  little  while  before,  and  whea  I  went 
home  I  hunted  it  out,  and  read  it  again,  and  wished  I 
could  hear  what  my  discontented  friend  on  the  road 
would  have  to  say  to  it.     It  is  from  the  Golden  Tran- 


1 70        Field  Paths  and  Green  Lanes,     ch.  xh. 

sc7'lpt,  a  Colorado  paper,  and  altliougli  the  account  of 
farming  difficulties  in  that  rich  state  is  written  in  the 
half-comic  vein  so  dear  to  the  American  journalist,  yet 
the  difficulties  themselves  are  not  in  the  least  ex- 
aggerated. Thus  it  runs  :  "  The  farmers  in  the  vicinity 
are  having  a  pleasant  time  now.  At  daylight  they  get 
up  and  examine  the  holes  around  the  corn-hills  for 
cut-worms ;  then  smash  coddling  moth  larvae  with  a 
hoe  handle  until  breakfast.  The  forenoon  is  devoted 
to  watering  the  potatoe  bugs  with  a  solution  of  Paris 
gTeen,  and  after  dinner  all  hands  turn  out  to  chase 
with  flail  and  broom  the  festive  grasshopper.  In  the 
evening,  a  favourite  occupation  is  sitting  on  the  fence 
figuring  how  much  they  would  have  made  had  it  not 
been  for  the  bugs,  and  after  a  brief  season  of  devotion 
at  the  shrine  of  the  night-flying  coleoptera,  all  the  folks 
retire  and  sleep  soundly  till  Aurora  reddens  the  east, 
and  the  gras.shoppcrs  tinkle  against  the  window  panes, 
and  summon  them  to  the  labours  of  another  day." 
Life  in  England  may  have  its  drawbacks,  but  has  any 
man  yet  discovered  the  country  where  there  are  none  ? 
If  so,  I  wish  he  would  communicate  with  me. 


CHAPTER    XIII. 

FROM    DORKING    TO    LEA.THERHEAD. 

A  Roundabout  Journey.— Over  the  Hills  to  Eanmore.— The  Twin 
Trees.— Lost  in  the  Woods.— Polesden. — Box  Hill  in  a  New 
Aspect.  — High  Barn.  —  Sentenced  to  Death. —The  "Grand 
Emporium  "of  Effingham. — A  Much  Rastored  Church. — Little 
Bookham. — The  Church  and  the  old  Yew. — Across  the  Fields 
to  Great  Bookham. — The  Crown  Inn.— Great  Bookham  Church 
and  its  Monuments. — On  the  Old  Portsmouth  Road. — ^Leather- 
head. 

For  those  who  want  the  shortest  road  between  the 
two  towns  above  named,  the  walk  now  to  be  described 
will  never  do.  But  if  anyone  desires  to  ramble  for  a 
few  hours  over  commons  and  hills  and  fields,  with  but 
one  or  two  little  touches  of  a  turnpike  road  here  and 
there,  and  a  village  occasionally  to  enliven  the  journey, 
this  is  a  route  that  he  will  find  in  every  way  satis- 
factory. The  total  distance,  making  allowance  for 
straying  out  of  the  way  occasionally,  is  about  ten  miles. 

The  first  stage  from  Dorking  is  over  Milton  Heath, 
and  through  the  first  lodge  gate  on  the  right-hand  side 
after  crossing  the  heath.  This  leads  round  close  to  the 
Elizabethan  house  which  forms  so  picturesque  an  object 
in  the  valley  from  any  of  the  surrounding  hills.  This 
house  was  once   in  great  danger  of  falling  to  pieces 


172        Field  Paths  and  Green  Lanes,    ch.  xm. 

througli  neglect  and  bad  usage,  but  the  grand  old 
staircase  wliicli  it  possesses  attracted  a  purchasernvho 
was  willing  to  save  it.  A  narrow  cart-road  winds  close 
round  by  the  hedge,  leaving  the  house  to  the  right, 
and  passing  on  to  the  raih'oad.  It  must  in  common 
honesty  be  admitted  that  mud,  much  mud  of  a  thick 
and  pasty  quality,  will  be  found  in  this  road  after  wet 
weather.  The  path  on  the  other  side  of  the  railway 
goes  straight  up  a  rather  steep  hill,  but  the  best  plan 
is  to  keep  below  the  plantations,  and  ascend  the  slope 
gradually.  From  this  hill  side  there  is  a  view  of 
Dorking  which  will  be  new  even  to  many  who  know 
the  district  tolerably  well.  The  author  of  "  Forest 
Scenery"  lays  it  down  as  a  principle  that  "a  landscape 
of  extent  and  beauty  will  take  the  full  j^eriod  of  a  year 
to  show  itself  in  all  the  forms  it  is  capable  of  receiving," 
and  of  no  district  can  that  remark  be  more  true  than  of 
this  part  of  Surrey.  Here,  for  example,  is  a  portion  of 
the  valley,  the  exact  position  of  which  must  be  well 
known  to  every  one  who  has  visited  the  locality,  and 
yet  there  are  probably  not  half-a-dozen  strangers  a 
year  who  traverse  it.  As  you  mount  the  hill,  the 
landscape  slowly  discloses  itself  as  if  a  screen  were 
withdrawn  from  the  front  of  a  picture — the  whole 
valley  to  Reigate  is  laid  bare,  and  opposite  are  the 
beautiful  woods  of  the  Rookery.  The  entire  country 
side  is  covered  with  trees,  and  on  the  2nd  of  last 
November,  when  I  took  this  walk,  it  was  tinted  with  all 
shades  of  colour,  under  the  light  of  the  morning  sun. 
The  hedges  and  bushes  were  covered  with  red  berries, 


CH.  XIII.    From  Dorking  to  Leather  head.         ijt, 

from  which  the  bu'ds  were  making  a  merry  meal, 
and  the  song  of  the  skylark  was  ringing  in  the  air. 
The  breeze  was  fresh  and  invigorating,  the  sun  bright 
and  clear,  most  of  the  trees  were  still  thickly  clad  with 
foliage,  and  the  country  was  as  green  as  an  emerald. 
The  summer  itself  had  offered  no  lovelier  day.  And 
yet  there  are  people  who  will  tell  you  without  a  blush 
that  the  English  climate  is  a  bad  one. 

I  have  said  that  it  is  best  not  to  go  straight  up  the 
hill  from  the  railroad,  but  to  keep  on  the  slope  till  you 
descry  two  or  three  cottages  above  you.  This  involves 
a  few  yards  of  rough  walking  in  places,  but  nothing  to 
make  a  fuss  about.  When  you  see  the  cottages,  strike 
upwards,  for  you  will  then  be  beyond  Mr.  Cubitt's 
grounds.  There  is  a  track  which  will  bring  you  out 
at  the  little  public-house  on  Ranraore  Common,  and 
nearly  opposite  to  that  are  three  or  four  new  cottages. 

By  the  side  of  the  last  of  these,  westward,  you  will 
see  three  green  lanes  or  paths.  The  middle  one  is  the 
most  direct,  but  who  cares  for  that  ?  Who  minds 
being  carried  a  little  out  of  his  Avay  when  the  devious 
path  has  anything  to  show  which  is  worth  seeing  ?  If 
the  visitor  here  will  do  as  I  did,  he  will  take  the  last  of 
the  three  paths — the  one  which  runs  nearest  to  the 
road,  and  starts  off  nearly  west.  A  little  way  up  this 
green  lane,  there  is  a  curiosity  which  will  detain  the 
tree-lover  a  few  moments  on  his  road.  It  is  a  yew  tree 
growing  out  of  an  oak,  and  it  may  be  found  on  the 
left-hand  side  of  the  path,  in  a  sort  of  circle  formed  by 
smaller  trees.     Where  the  branches  of  the  oak  beein  to 


1 74         Field  Paths  and  Green  Lanes,     ch.  xtn. 

spread  out  from  the  trunk,  the  top  of  the  yew  also 
sends  forth  its  branches,  and  pokes  its  way  through  tlie 
oak  in  all  directions.  The  trunk  of  the  yew — only  a 
few  inches  in  diameter — grows,  to  all  appearance,  out 
of  the  very  roots  of  the  oak,  and  at  the  ground  the  two 
trees  cannot  be  distinguished  apart,  except  by  the 
different  appearance  of  the  bark.  You  could  not,  for 
instance,  put  a  sheet  of  paper  between  them.  The  yew 
then  grows  straight  up  the  trunk  of  the  oak,  and  forces 
its  branches  through  those  of  its  companion,  making 
substantially  one  tree.  The  contrast  in  colour  alone 
attracted  my  attention  to  these  twins.  A  man  whom 
I  met  close  by  said  he  had  never  noticed  the  tree, 
although  he  had  lived  on  Ranmore  Common  many 
years.  But  how  many  country  people  are  there  who 
ever  do  notice  the  trees,  or  can  tell  you  the  names  of 
any  of  them,  except  perhaps  the  oak  and  the  elm  ? 

"  You  are  pretty  sure  to  lose  yourself  on  this 
Common,"  said  the  man  with  a  grin  ;  "  you  will  come 
out  at  a  very  different  place  from  what  you  expect. 
Everybody  does."  Lose  myself?  Well,  I  once  managed 
to  do  that,  but  in  a  very  different  sort  of  place  to  this. 
I  was  up  among  the  mountains  in  New  Hampshire, 
and  had  strolled  off  into  one  of  the  huge  forests  there 
to  see  a  waterfall,  to  which  there  was  a  narrow  track, 
covered  over  in  many  places  with  leaves  and  bushes. 
I  found  the  waterfall,  and  was  on  tay  way  back  as  I 
thought,  when  suddenly  I  looked  about  me,  and  saw 
at  once  that  I  had  wandered  from  the  path.  Probably 
I    had    not    gone    many    yards,   but    in    the   "  fdrest 


cH.  XIII.    F7'om  Dorking  to  LeatherJiead.         175 

primeval,"  with  bears  known  to  be  about  (one  liad 
been  seen  close  to  the  hotel  only  the  night  before)  this 
was  quite  enougli.  In  less  tlian  five  minutes  I  had 
tumbled  down  a  hole  three  or  four  feet  deep,  which 
bad  been  hidden  by  the  thick  brushwood,  had  scratched 
myself  severely  with  thorns,  and  straggled  into  an 
almost  impenetrable  mass  of  underbrush  and  large 
trees..  I  could  not  see  the  sky  for  the  dense  foliage, 
and  realised  the  unpleasant  fact  that  I  was  lost.  The 
heat  was  stifling.  The  mosquitoes  and  other  insects 
set  upon  me  in  myriads.  I  shouted  out  to  see  if 
anyone  was  within  ear-shot,  but  no  answer  came.  The 
forest  was  iu  one  of  the  wildest  parts  of  the  mountains, 
and  I  knew  very  well  that  assistance  of  any  kind  was 
out  of  the  question.  An  hour  passed  away,  and  I  had 
only  wandered  into  thicker  woods  than  ever.  I  must 
say  that  I  have  been  in  many  places  which  I  liked  the 
look  of  very  much  better  than  this  ;  but  wherever  one 
may  find  oneself,  on  sea  or  land,  there  is  nothing  like 
taking  things  quietly,  and  making  the  best  of  them. 
Still,  the  fatigue  of  scrambling  through  thorns  and 
brambles  nearly  waist  high,  had  produced  a  violent 
thirst,  and  the  heat  had  left  not  a  dry  thread  on  me. 
After  all,  it  seemed  just  as  well  to  wait  where  I  was 
until  it  should  occur  to  me  to  do  something,  better 
than  go  tumbling  from  one  hole  to  another,  and 
bruising  myself  against  trees.  Presently,  I  heard 
faintly  the  sound  of  water.  I  began  to  push  and  fight 
my  way  as  well  as  I  could  in  that  direction,  but  there 
was  nothing  to  guide  me,  and  no  one  who  has  not 


1 76         Field  Paths  and  Green  Lanes,     ch.  xm. 

been  in  a  similar  predicament  can  judge  how  difficult 
it  is  to  tell  whether  you  are  going  forward  or  merely 
doubling  back  on  your  path.  It  was  evident  by  the 
increasing  darkness  that  the  day  was  closing  in.  But 
I  kept  listening  for  the  water,  determined  if  I  found 
it  to  fallow  it  down  hill,  and  after  what  seemed  an 
age,  I  reached  the  waterfall  itself,  but  at  some  point 
above  the  place  where  I  had  left  it  a  few  hours  before. 
I  now  followed  the  water  down,  and  in  less  than  a 
quarter  of  an  hour  struck  the  right  trail  again,  kept 
on  it  with  rather  more  care  than  I  had  shown  before, 
and  at  last  found  myself  on  the  mountain  road  once 
more,  half  dead  with  heat,  thirst,  and  weariness.  All 
this  came  of  getting  off  the  right  track  ;  and  thus  this 
proves  to  be  a  little  story  with  a  moral  thrown  in. 

Beyond  my  twin  trees,  the  path  takes  a  dip  into  a 
hollow,  crosses  a  small  ravine,  and  goes  up  the  other 
side  in  a  north-westerly  direction.  A  stray  partridge 
rises  with  a  whirr,  or  a  blackbird  rustles  out  with  his 
foolish  scream  as  you  approach  the  bush  where  he 
is  digesting  his  ample  bi-eakfast  of  "  hips-and-haws." 
No  other  sounds  will  disturb  you  on  this  rather  lonely 
part  of  the  common.  A  distracting  number  of  jmths 
here  open  themselves  up,  to  the  perplexity  of  the 
traveller — some  of  them  leading  to  clearings  where 
chopped  wood  is  piled,  and  some  to  gravel  pits.  In 
this  case,  as  in  many  others,  the  path  on  which  you 
started  is  the  safest,  and  although  it  will  laud  you 
plump  against  a  fence,  yet  there  is  a  cart  road  running 
to  the  right  and  left  of  tliat  fence,  and  if  you  turn  to 


CH.  xiir.    From-  Dorking  to  Leatherhead.         177 

the  right  you  will  find  yourself  ere  long  near  a  black 
shed  on  the  side  of  the  road.  From  this  point  there  is 
a  good  view  of  Polesden,  a  house  once  occupied  by 
Sheridan,  and  often  besieged  by  his  duns.  Since  those 
days  it  has  been  much  improved.  It  stands  in  an 
isolated  position,  but  overlooks  a  noble  expanse  of  hill, 
dale,  and  moorland.  Opposite  the  black  shed,  a  path 
may  be  seen  winding  round  a  tree,  and  running 
diagonally  across  two  fields.  That  is  now  our  road. 
When  you  come  to  the  second  field,  you  Avill  be 
rewarded  with  a  fine  and  entirely  new  view  of  Box-Hill. 
Ranmore  Common,  uneven  and  covered  with  trees  and 
ferns,  lies  to  the  right,  to  the  left  is  the  ridge  with 
Polesden  adorning  its  side,  and  between  is  a  deep  and 
well  wooded  gorge,  while  beyond  all  is  Box  Hill,  with 
its  scarred  face  turned  towards  the  spectator.  The 
whole  scene  is  full  of  wild  and  rugged  beauty.  And 
within  ten  minutes'  walk  there  is  a  total  change — a 
change  as  great  as  if  you  had  been  transported  a 
hundred  miles  away  on  the  magic  carpet  of  the 
Arabian  wizard.  The  path  which  we  have  been  fol- 
lowing comes  out  upon  the  main  road  to  Horsley,  near 
two  cottages  known  as  "  High  Barn,"  and  there  the 
wide  and  open  country  lies  extended  before  us, 
stretching  far  away  into  Berkshire  to  the  front  and 
left,  and  to  the  right  over  Epsom  and  Banstead  Downs. 
In  the  foreground  are  the  villages  of  Effingham  and 
Bookham.  The  hills  have  entirely  disappeared,  and 
the  whole  country  has  changed  suddeidy  into  smiling 

fields,  dotted  with  old  church  towers. 
9 


lyS         Field  Paths  and  Green  Lanes,    ch.  xm. 

We  now  turn  to  tlie  right,  past  the  cottages.  The 
cries  of  a  sheep  were  here  so  loud  and  plaintive  that  I 
could  not  help  asking  a  man  in  the  garden  what  was 
the  matter.  "Why  Sir,"  said  he,  "we  be  a  goin'  to  kill 
him  directly  after  dinner  for  the  great  house."  "  He 
seems  to  know  all  about  it."  "  Oh,  no,"  said  the  man 
laughing,  "  he  don't  know  what's  a  comin',  and  it's  best 
he  shouldn't."  The  doleful  bleatings  of  the  poor  animal 
proved  that  if  he  didn't  know  exactly  what  was  "a 
comin'  "  he  had  some  very  gloomy  forebodings  on  the 
subject.  Presently  Effingham  came  in  sight,  first  intro- 
ducing the  "Prince  Blucher"  inn  to  one's  notice,  and 
then  a  little  further  on,  a  shop  which  was  enough  to 
take  one's  breath  away — a  truly  astounding  shop,  built 
in  a  style  of  architecture  tor  which  they  ought  to  take 
out  a  patent,  and  crammed  with  everything  that  the 
housekeeper  could  wish  for,  from  mops  and  brooms  to 
hufje  flitches  of  bacon.  But  the  woman  who  Avas  servinsr 
behind  the  counter  did  not  seem  at  all  proud,  and 
condescended  to  answer  my  question  as  to  where  I 
should  find  the  keys  of  the  church.  She  gave  me  a 
direction  which,  as  near  as  I  could  guess,  would  have 
taken  me  .somewhere  in  the  neighbourhood  of  Brighton. 
There  was  an  old  yew  tree  before  the  door,  the  lower 
part  of  it  cut  to  resemble  a  cannon  ball,  or  it  may  be, 
as  more  suitable  to  the  place,  a  large  Dutch  cheese. 
"  You  have  a  fine  old  tree,  here,"  said  I.  "  Yes,"  said 
the  woman,  "  very  old  ;  it  has  been  here  ever  since  we 
have  been  in  the  house."  I  quite  believed  her.  The 
church  turned  out  to  be  the  most  dismally  restored 


CK.  XIII.    From  DorMiig  to  Leatherhead.         179 

building  conceivable — the  tower  has  been  made  to  look 
like  the  stuccoed  front  of  a  new  villa  on  the  outskirts 
of  London,  and  a  gang  of  common  bricklayers  and 
plasterers  seem  to  have  been  let  loose  in  every  direction. 
Never  was  a  poor  church  more  abominably  ill-used. 
There  are  two  or  three  old  seats  inside  near  the  porch, 
with  the  jitUT  de  lys  carved  at  the  top — perhaps  relics 
of  the  days  when  Walter  de  Jeddynges  was  lord  of 
Effingham  in  the  fourteenth  century.  What  would  be 
his  feelings  if  he  could  see  the  church  they  have  put 
up  on  his  former  domains  ? 

Through  the  churchyard  there  is  a  path  turning 
down  by  the  side  of  a  wall,  and  then  running  pleasantly 
across  meadows,  due  east,  until  it  brings  you  very  unex- 
pectedly upon  Little  Bookham  churchyard.  You  see 
nothing  of  that  or  the  church  until  you  have  actually 
opened  the  gate  which  leads  into  them.  By  the  side, 
separated  by  a  wall,  is  what  is  called  the  Manor  House, 
an  ugly,  but  possibly  very  comfortable,  edifice.  In  the 
churchyard  is  a  large  old  yew,  protected  by  an  iron  rail- 
ing ten  or  twelve  feet  in  height.  The  traces  of  Norman 
arches  and  capitals  outside  are  very  clear  and  good, 
and  were  only  brought  to  light  in  1864.  The  path  still 
goes  on  straight  through  this  very  small  and  retired  old 
churchyard,  and  across  more  fields  to  Great  Bookham 
— three  quarters  of  a  mile  from  its  neighbour.  The 
visitor  will  notice  fine  fat  barns  and  good  big  stasks 
hereabouts,  and  other  evidences  of  a  land  of  plenty. 

At  Great  Bookham  there  is  an  inn  called  the 
"  Crown."     Here  with   some  difficulty  I  succeeded  in 


I  So         Field  PalJis  and  Green  Lanes,    en.  xnr. 

getting  the  liomely  refreshment  of  bread  and  cheese 
and  ale — each  bad  of  its  kind.  A  (Uxnisol  who  wove 
spectacles,  and  who  had  a  voice  like  a  man's,  and  whose 
hair  was  hanging  dawn  her  back,  brought  in  the  repast, 
and  proceeded  to  pick  a  few  hair.s,  which  bore  a  striking 
resemblance  to  her  own,  out  of  the  butter.  Meanwhile, 
I  examined  the  works  of  art  upon  the  walls.  The  first 
that  struck  me  was  a  small  engraving  of  the  "  Piazza, 
Congress  Hall,  Saratoga  Springs,"  evidently  some  thirty 
or  forty  years  old,  for  the  fashions  of  the  ladies  depicted 
in  the  engraving  were  not  by  any  means  like  those 
whicli  I  have  seen  exhibited  by  the  young  beauties  at 
Saratoga.  "  Pray  how  did  this  picture  come  here?"  I 
asked.  The  beautiful  creature  with  the  spectacles  sus- 
pended for  a  moment  her  employment  of  picking  sam- 
ples of  her  back  hair  out  of  the  butter,  and  said,  "It 
was  there  when  w^e  came  here" — identically  the  answer 
that  one  gets  everywhere  about  everything,  from  a  tree 
to  a  picture.  I  next  admired  a  spirited  lithograph  re- 
presenting the  "Attempt  of  John  Francis  to  assassinate 
the  Queen,  May  30,  1842."  We  are  here  shown  John 
Francis  attired  in  a  fashionable  frock  coat,  buttoned 
round  the  waist  within  an  inch  of  his  life,  and  the 
queen  and  the  prince  seated  in  a  "  shay,"  pointing  out 
the  landscape  to  each  other,  in  utter  disregard  of  John 
Francis,  who  is  calmly  blazing  away  at  them  with  a 
pistol.  The  "  shay "  is  drawn  by  four  horses,  all  on 
their  hind  legs.  I  was  anxious  to  buy  this  sweet 
picture,  but  the  young  womail  sternly  refused  to  sell  it. 
I  now  re(juested    her  to  remove  the  Ijutter  to  some 


CH.  XIII.    From  Dorking  to  Leatherhcad.         iSi 

distant  apartment,  munched  my  dry  bread,  and  speedily 
found  my  way  into  the  street  again,  without  the  lock 
of  hair  which  my  fair  friend  had  clandestinely  tried  to 
thrust  upon  me. 

I  discovered  that  Mr.  Ragge,  a  saddler  up  the  street, 
had  the  keys  of  the  church,  and  although  Mr,  Ragge 
was  a  somewhat  austere  man  in  aspect,  as  a  saddler  is 
very  apt  to  be,  he  at  once  handed  me  the  keys.  The 
church  is  an  interesting  one,  and  contains  some  curious 
brasses  and  monuments.  An  inscription  in  the  wall 
near  the  commimion-table,  which  looks  as  if  the  letters 
had  been  recently  cut,  sets  forth  that  the  chancel  was 
built  by  "  Johanue  de  Rutherwyka,"  Abbot  of  Chertsey, 
in  1341.  Near  this  is  a  monument  evidently  designed 
to  perpetuate  the  memory  of  some  Roman  gladiator, 
although  the  name  of  "  Colonel  Thomas  More  "  is  by 
mistake  inscribed  upon  it.  Then  there  is  a  long  epitaph 
on  a  brass  plate  inserted  in  the  south  wall,  descriptive 
of  the  virtues  of  Edmund  Slyfield  : — 

"  A  iustice  of  ye  Peace  he  was  from  ye  Syxt  Kynge  Edward's  dayes, 
And  worthely  for  vertves  vse  dyd  wyn  deserved  prayse." 

This  excellent  person  died  in  1590,  and  the  plate  bears 
witness  that — 

"  Thaire  Eldyst  sonne  Heury  this  cavsde  to  be  made, 
In  Faythfull  performans  of  the  will  of  the  Dedd." 

While  I  was  copying  these  lines,  raps,  cracks,  and 
bangs  were  going  on  thick  and  fast  all  round  me,  and 
at  last  I  came  to  the  conclusion  that  Mr.  Slyfield  had 


1 82         Field  Paths  and  Green  Lafies.    en.  xm. 

some  message  to  communicate  to  me.  Once  the  organ 
gave  a  loud  thud  as  if  a  stop  or  two  had  been  pulled 
out,  and  it  was  about  to  perform  a  "  voluntary."  Then 
a  pew  just  behind  me  went  off  with  a  crack,  and  was 
instantly  answered  in  an  overbearing  manner  from  the 
pulpit.  As  I  closed  my  book,  a  general  chorus  of 
cracking's  and  creakinsj^s  broke  out  all  over  the  church, 
and  many  mysterious  shapes  appeared.  Some  people 
may  think  that  these  shapes  were  only  the  monuments, 
but  as  honest  Izaak  Walton  says  when  he  is  relating  the 
story  of  the" ghost  which  appeared  to  Dr.  Donne,  "J 
am  well  pleased  that  every  reader  do  enjoy  his  own 
opinion." 

From  Great  Bookham  there  is  a  tolerably  direct  road 
to  Dorking,  by  Ranmore — 5  miles ;  a  road  by  the 
"  Crown  "  to  Leatherhead,  by  Fetcham — ^\  miles  ;  and 
a  road  above  the  village  (the  old  Portsmouth  road)  also 
to  Leatherhead,  the  same  distance.  I  chose  the  latter, 
because  it  affords  the  best  views.  The  farm  labourers 
were  getting  the  fields  ready  for  the  winter's  wheat,  the 
birds  were  singing  in  the  bushes  and  trees,  and  the 
only  objectionable  thing  to  be  seen  was  a  being  of  my 
own  species  in  the  shape  of  a  tramp.  He  staggcied  up 
as  well  as  much  strong  drink  would  permit  him,  and 
begged  for  "  assistance."  "  What  for,"  I  asked — "  to 
enable  you  to  get  more  drunk  than  you  are  now  ? "  "I 
haven't  tasted  a  drop  for  a  fortnight,  guvner,"  replied 
the  man,  who  could  scarcely  stand  upright.  "  I  can't 
get  anything  to  do."  His  way  of  looking  for  work 
reminded  me  of  the  "  loafer "  in   Vermont  who  was 


From  D 01' king  to  Lcatherhead.         183 


hired  by  a  farmer  to  dig  some  potatoes*  Presently  .the 
farmer  went  out,  and  finding  him  lying  down  smoking, 
began  to  reproach  him.  "All  right,"  mumbled  the 
man,  "if  you  want  your  potatoes  dug,  just  fetch  'em 
on  !  I  ain't  going  to  run  all  over  the  lot  after  them." 
Followed  by  a  tempest  of  curses  from  the  industrious 
tramp  for  refusing  to  give  him  more  drink-money,  I 
once  more  had  the  old  Portsmouth  road  all  to  myself, 
and  presently  saw  Leatherhead  a  little  below  me,  with 
its  church  looking  like  the  tower  of  some  old  fortress 
flanking  the  hill,  and  two  red  houses  beneath  it,  and  a 
group  of  miserable  "  Building  Society  "  cottages  at  the 
back — and  the  homely  meadows  closing  in  around  it 
on  every  side. 


CHAPTER    XIV. 

TO    GUILDFOIJD    OYER    THE    HILLS. 

The  Jlcrits  and  Defects  of  this  Walk. — A  Long  Green  Lane. — The 
Beech  Wood. — A  Hard  Eoad  to  find. — Misleading  Finger 
Posts. —A  Lonely  Path. — Due  West  through  a  Wood. — New- 
land's  Corner.  — St.  Martha's  Chapel. — The  Last  Dilhculty. — 
Guildford. — Queer  Guests  at  the  Angel. 

There  are  many  things  to  be  said  in  favour  of  tins 
walk,  and  a  few  to  be  set  down  against  it.  In  the  first 
place  it  runs  almost  entirely  along  the  top  of  the  hill, 
and  that  in  itself  is  a  great  attraction.  But  anyone 
Avho  stands  in  the  valley,  and  looks  along  the  range  of 
hills  leading  to  Guildford,  would  naturally  suppose  that 
the  prospect  must  be  extensive  and  varied  almost 
through  the  entire  distance,  whereas  you  get  very  few 
views  unless  you  make  long  and  perplexing  sweeps  from 
the  proper  track,  and  if  you  do  that,  the  twelve  mile 
walk  will  very  easily  be  turned  into  one  of  sixteen. 
For  the  greater  part  of  the  journey,  the  lovely  scenery 
which  stretches  far  away  on  each  side  of  the  hill  is  as 
completely  shut  out  from  eye-sight  as  though  the 
traveller  were  not  within  a  thousand  leagues  of  it. 
You  have  the  "  green  road,"  with  hedges  and  woods  on 
each  side,  but  it  runs  far  back  from  the  brow  of  the 


cii.  XIV.       To  Gttildford  over  the  Hills.  185 

hill,  and  there  is  only  the  great  prize  of  Newland's 
Corner  to  lure  you  on.  But  many  who  start  on  this  trip 
fail  to  come  out  at  that  famous  spot,  and  so  they  miss 
the  chief  glory  of  the  ^Yalk,  and  thenceforward  are  fain  to 
hide  their  heads  when  Newland's  Corner  is  mentioned. 
Some  travellers  might  think  it  an  objection  that  the  path 
is  very  solitary,  although  I  have  nothing  to  say  against  it 
on  that  score.  But  there  are  persons  who  would  dislike 
being  four  or  five  hours  on  a  road  mjuch  shut  in  by  trees, 
without  the  chance  of  meeting  a  single  human  being, 
or  of  coming  upon  a  house  of  any  kind  where  even  a 
glass  of  water  may  be  obtained.  If  a  man  gets  thirsty 
on  this  journey,  especially  on  a  hot  day,  he  will  wish 
that  he  had  never  been  born,  or  had  been  "  changed  at 
nurse."  Yet  to  the  true  lover  of  the  countr}^  or  to 
anyone  who  wants  to  get  out  of  the  way  of  the  world, 
and  have  an  uninterrupted  talk  with  himself,  this 
green  lane,  twelve  miles  long,  may  be  very  safely 
commended. 

The  best  way  is  to  start  from  Dorking,  and  to  make 
for  Ranmore  Common  by  the  narrow  path,  already 
described,  just  beyond  the  lodge  gates.  Having  come 
out  opposite  to  the  Post-office,  the  people  about— if  you 
meet  with  any — will  tell  you  that  it  is  a  "  straight  line  " 
to  Guildford,  but  before  you  have  reached  your  journey's 
end  you  will  be  of  a  different  opinion.  I  started  off 
betimes  on  a  fine  morning  towards  the  end  of  July  to 
do  this  walk,  in  the  hope  that  the  day  Avould  turn  out 
cool  and  pleasant,  since  there  had  been  a  stiff  north 
wind  blowing  all  night.     But  long  before  ten  the  sun 


1 86        Field  Paths  and  Green  Laites.     ch.  xiv, 

burst  out  in  a  great  hurry,  and  made  up  for  a  little 
lost  time  that  day  by  producing  a  temperature  which 
would  have  done  no  discredit  to  Calcutta.  By  that 
time,  however,  I  was  a  couple  of  miles  on  the  journey ; 
and,  as  I  hate  to  turn  back  when  once  I  have  started 
off,  I  determined  to  push  on  and  take  my  roasting. 
And  a  pretty  thorough  roasting  it  proved  to  be — most 
people  may  remember  that  the  summer  of  1876  was 
rather  hot,  and  this  happened  to  be  one  of  the  very 
hottest  days  of  that  summer.  More  than  once  in  the 
course  of  that  tramp  I  would  have  given  a  good  price 
for  a  bottle  of  soda-water,  but  between  Dorking  and 
Guildford  there  is  nothing  whatever  to  be  had  except 
fresh  air  and  plenty  of  trees,  and  one  cannot  drink 
them. 

The  road  over  Ranmore  Common  must  be  followed 
as  far  as  the  point  described  in  the  walk  to  "Pickett's 
Hole,"  and  then  the  next  turning  to  the  left  must  be 
taken — a  broad  green  lane,  on  the  main  road  to  East 
Horsley,  a  little  below  the  gate  which  shuts  off  the 
Common.  The  green  road  cannot  well  be  missed,  for 
at  this  part  it  is  nearly  as  wide  as  Fleet  Street.  "  Keep 
on  that  and  you  can't  go  wrong,"  said  a  man  who  was 
tying  up  faggots  on  the  Common.  But  like  most  other 
right  roads  in  life,  it  is  far  easier  to  get  off  it  than 
to  keep  on  it.  Sometimes  one  strays  away  without 
knowing  it — sometimes  you  stand  looking  at  two  or 
three  paths  exactly  alike,  and  wondering  which  is  the 
right  one?  For  although  the  "course"  is  west,  yet 
sharp  bends  have  sometimes  to  be  made  to  the  north, 


CH.  XIV.       To  Guildford  over  the  Hills.  187 

and  any  man  who  tries  to  find  his  way  without  a 
compass  will  most  certainly  go  wildly  wrong.  Even 
with  it,  the  traveller  must  be  on  his  guard  lest  he  is 
tempted  by  promising-looking  roads  down  to  Horsley 
on  one  side,  or  Shere  on  the  other,  or  get  all  adrift  on 
the  Downs.  Yes,  yes — the  "  right  road  "  is  a  puzzle 
here  as  elsewhere,  whereas  the  wrong  one  is  provokingly 
easy  to  find ;  so  easy  that  no  one  who  looked  for  it  was 
ever  yet  known  to  miss  it. 

Very  soon  the  green  lane — it  is  thickly  overgrown 
with  grass,  like  a  field,  although  marked  with  some 
deep  old  cart-ruts — leads  into  thick  woods,  where  3'ou 
see  rabbits  scuttling  off  by  hundreds,  and  squirrels 
climbing  nimbly  from  branch  to  branch.  The  bii'ds  are 
almost  as  thick  as  Hies — chiefly  blackbirds  and  thrushes. 
There  is  a  grove  of  beeches  to  the  right,  wonderfully 
green  and  beautiful,  and  throwing  so  deep  a  shade  that 
it  seems  twilight  underneath  them.  The  local  tradition 
is  that  there  are  many  ravens  in  this  beech  grove,  but 
I  made  several  visits  to  it  and  never  saw  any.  The 
trees  are  among  the  finest  I  have  anywhere  found. 
Why  should  not  the  leaves  of  this  tree  be  restored  to 
their  ancient  use  ?  Evelyn's  testimony  to  their  excel- 
lence as  a  stuffing  for  beds  has  been  confirmed  by  other 
writers.  The  autlwr  of  Sylva  says  : — "  But  there  is  yet 
another  benefit  which  this  tree  presents  us;  its  very 
leaves,  which  make  a  natural  and  most  agreeable  canopy 
all  the  summer,  being  gathered  about  the  fall,  and 
somewhat  before  they  are  much  frost-bitten,  afford  the 
best  and  easiest  mattresses  in  the  world  to  lay  under 


1 88        Field  Paths  and  Green  Lanes,     en.  xiv. 

our  quilts  instead  of  straw,  because,  besides  their. tender- 
ness and  loose  lying  together,  they  continue  sweet  for 
seven  or  eight  years  long,  before  which  time  straw 
becomes  musty  and  hard."  He  adds,  "  In  Switzerland 
I  have  sometimes  lain  on  them  to  my  great  refresh- 
ment." It  would  be  interesting  to  know  if  beech- 
leaves  are  still  used  in  this  manner  in  any  part  of 
rural  England,  or  whether  it  is  simply  one  of  the  old- 
fashioned  customs  which  have  given  way  to  new  ones 
not  half  so  good.  All  through  this  part  of  Surrey  the 
beech  flourishes  in  all  its  glory,  and  a  more  beautiful 
object  than  a  fine  beech  it  would  surely  be  hard  to  find. 
I  hope  there  are  not  many  who  share  the  opinion  ex- 
pressed by  Mr.  Gilpin  in  his  "  Forest  Scenery  "  (i.  4.^), 
that  "  upon  the  whole  the  massy  full-grown  luxuriant 
beech  is  rather  a  displeasing  tree." 

As  the  road  passes  between  belts  of  beeches  or  oak, 
the  traveller  will  meet  with  no  one,  and  hear  no  sound 
save  the  twittering  of  birds,  or  the  sharp  crash  of  the 
woodman's  axe  in  the  distance.  At  about  five  miles 
from  Dorking,  there  is  .an  opening  from  which  a  beauti- 
ful view  to  the  southward  is  to  be  obtained,  and  it 
is  not  unwelcome  after  a  longish  stretch  of  country 
bounded  by  trees  and  hedges  on  each  side.  Here,  too, 
the  road  becomes  as  bron.d  as  any  turnpike  road,  quite 
green,  and  very  wild  and  picturesque.  Presently,  how- 
ever, it  narrows  again,  and  several  paths  of  pretty  much 
the  same  general  appearance  go  bearing  away  from  it 
in  various  directions.  It  is  easy  to  avoid  those  which 
break  abruptly  off  to  the  south  or  north,  but  it  requires 


c}i.  XIV.       To  Guildford  over   the  Hills.  1 89 

some  firmness  to  resist  the  allurements  of  tlie  paths 
which  sidle  a  little  away,  and  seem  to  have  as  good  a 
claim  to  your  confidence  as  any  other.  In  my  case, 
however,  I  determined  to  obey  the  compass,  and  I  still 
kept  my  face  to  the  west,  and  considered  myself  re- 
warded presently  when  I  reached  a  finger-post  Avhich 
l^ointed  straight  on  "  to  Guildford."'  But  finger-posts 
are  not  always  to  be  trusted  by  the  pedestrian,  for  they 
naturally  direct  to  the  turnpike  road,  which  .it  may  be 
Jiis  very  object  to  avoid,  and  indeed  a  bad  case  of  the 
sort  occurs  in  the  course  of  this  very  journey,  as  will 
shortly  appear. 

Beyond  this  point  some  cultivated  fields  came  in 
sight,  and  the  road  began  to  look  more  like  a  common 
turnpike.  Perhaps  the  finger-post  misled  me !  At 
any  rate,  the  road  was  running  due  west.  But,  alas  I 
at  a  distance  of  seven  miles,  it  took  a  sudden  sweep 
downhill  to  the  south,  and  downhill  I  was  determined 
not  to  fjo  until  I  reached  Guildford,  come  what  miffht. 
What  was  to  be  done  ?  There  went  the  road  to  the 
left — to  the  right  was  a  farm  track  ;  directly  in  front 
was  a  grove  of  tall  pines,  and  a  wood  beyond.  I  hesitated 
a  few  moments,  compass  in  hand,  but  as  the  needle 
plainly  indicated  that  if  I  took  to  the  wood  I  should  be 
on  my  proper  course,  I  resolved  to  push  into  it  and 
take  my  chance  of  finding  my  way  out  again.  Steer- 
ing once  more  for  the  west,  I  passed  through  .some 
hick  trees  and  underbrush,  and  in  a  short  time  came 
out  upon  a  broad  green  road  again — the  very  same  to 
all  appearance  as  that  which   I   had  left  behind  me 


1 90        Field  Paths  and  Green  Lanes,    en.  xiv, 

where  the  view  liad  been  so  welcome.  Had  I  then 
wandered  from  it,  and  now  recovered  it  ?  I  had,  and 
have  still,  my  suspicions  on  the  subject.  At  any  rate, 
I  made  up  my  mind  not  to  lose  sight  of  it  again  ;  and, 
indeed,  from  this  point  there  is  no  difficulty  in  keeping 
a  close  grip  of  it.  For  at  no  great  distance  the  traveller 
will  have  the  satisfaction  of  coming  out  at  Newland's 
Corner,  and  from  thence  he  remains  in  the  "  open  " 
until  his  ramble  is  over,  and  has  more  than  one  land- 
mark to  show  him  which  way  his  face  should  beset. 

The  view  from  Newland's  Corner  is  inferior  in  extent 
to  the  wide  range  commanded  from  Leith  Hill,  but  it 
has  a  winning  character  of  its  own,  which  tempts  one  to 
linger  long  over  it,  to  sit  down  and  enjoy  it  slowly  and 
peacefully,  and  make  a  feast  of  it.  At  Leith  Hill,  one 
has  a  sort  of  restless  desire  to  find  out  places — to  look 
for  this  or  the  other  well-known  hill  or  clump  of  trees 
or  church,  and  to  get  a  glimpse  of  the  far-off  sea.  But 
at  Newland's  Corner  the  desire  is  simply  to  rest  awhile, 
and  take  it  all  in  little  by  little — to  let  this  fair  handi- 
work of  Nature  exercise  its  own  spell  over  the  mind. 
"The  whole  scene,"  says  Murray's //a9KZ6oo/i;  for  Surrey, 
"  recalls  some  wide-sweeping  landscape  by  Rubens  or 
by  Turner  ;  "  and  the  comparison  is  a  haj^py  one.  If 
the  visitor  to  this  sj^ot  will  look  around  him,  he  will  see 
something  beside  the  view  worthy  of  his  attention — a 
few  ancient  yew  trees,  still  marking  the  line  of  the 
path  which  was  taken  by  the  pilgrims  to  the  shrine  of 
St.  Thomas  A'Becket  at  Canterbury  when  they  came 
from   Southampton.      This    most  interesting   path    we 


CH.  XIV.       To  Gtiildford  over  the  Hills.  1 9 1 

shall  cross  many  times  yet  in  the  course  of  our  rambles. 
The  yew  trees,  which  still  define  its  outlines,  are  not 
less  curious  in  their  way  than  the  torn  and  broken 
stones  in  Canterbury  Cathedral,  which  point  out  the 
spot  where  the  great  shrine  stood  three  centuries  and  a 
half  ago.  From  the  sides  of  the  hill,  other  and  younger 
yews  may  be  traced,  down  towards  the  Duke  of  North- 
umberland's gardens  at  Albury,  becoming  thin  and 
faint  in  the  distance,  like  a  dark  green  thread. 

Still  keeping  on  the  high  ground,  the  view  Avill 
presently  be  found  to  open  to  the  northward,  disclosing 
Windsor  Castle  in  the  distance.  St.  Martha's  Chapel 
is  now  not  far  off — a  "chapel"  which  stands  in  an 
isolated  and  even  a  melancholy  spot,  cut  off  from  all 
human  habitations,  and  only  to  be  reached  from  this 
side  by  some  rough  up-hill  work.  Service  is  still  held 
in  it  once  a  month,  but  very  few  persons  attend  it.  It 
may  be  doubted  whether  it  was  ever  used  as  a  place  of 
general  public  worship.  Manning  thinks  that  it  was 
originally  designed  to  serve  as  a  chantry,  and  that  it 
was  erected  "  over  the  graves  of  some  Christians  who 
suffered  on  this  spot."  He  truly  adds  that  this  supposi- 
tion is  the  more  reasonable  since  "  it  is  not  likely  that 
a  place  originally  intended  for  the  ordinary  services  of 
religion  should  have  been  erected  on  a  spot  so  difficult 
of  access."  There  seems  to  be  little  doubt  that  the 
church  was  one  of  the  three  mentioned  in  Domesday 
Book  as  belonging  to  the  manor  of  Bramley.  In  ]463 
an  appeal  was  made  for  funds  towards  its  repair,  but  it 
fell  into  ruins,  and  the  present  building  is  compara- 


192        Field  Paths  and  Green  Lanes,     en.  xiv. 

lively  modern.  It  form.s  a  striking  object  in  the  land- 
scape, from  whatever  point  it  may  be  seen,  and  doubtless 
has  often  attracted  the  attention  of  travellers  on  the 
railroad,  who  may  have  wondered  what  could  have 
induced  anybody  to  build  a  cliurch,  which  only  a 
climbing  animal  could  reach  with  comfort. 

As  soon  as  I  had  passed  the  chapel,  the  road  began 
to  descend,  and  for  the  first  time  I  submitted  to  its 
guidance,  and  descended  with  it.  And  here  the  abinty 
of  the  pedestrian  to  steer  a  good  course  will  be  tested 
for  the  last  time.  The  road  winds  due  north,  and  a 
finger-post  astounds  the  traveller  by  pointing  to  tUat 
as  the  proper  path  to  take  for  "  Guildford  and  Stoke." 
But  I  still  had  my  doubts  about  the  trustworthiness  of 
that  other  finger-post  up  above,  and  hence  I  surveyed 
this  one  with  mingled  distrust  and  aversion.  I  did  not 
like  its  bullying  way  of  pointing  me  down  a  road  I  did 
not  want  to  go.  The  map  said,  go  west ;  the  post  said, 
fro  north.  Which  should  it  be?  It  is  almost  as  serious  a 
thing  to  fly  full  in  the  face  of  a  finger-post  as  it  would  be 
to  contradict  an  editor  in  his  own  room,  or  a  parson  in 
a  church.  "  To  the  west,"  however,  I  determined  once 
more  to  go,  and  I  struck  out  boldly  for  it  across  a  field, 
leaving  the  swaggering  finger-post  at  my  back.  It  was 
a  very  good  thing  to  do,  for  I  saved  myself  a  long  pull 
along  a  dusty  turnpike  road.  At  no  great  distance  the 
path  clearly  made  towards  the  town,  and  I  came  out 
under  the  borough  police  station,  near  the  "  Angel  " 
Inn — a  queer  old  inn,  in  which  there  are  all  sorts  of 
rambling   passages  and  staircases,  and  a  cosy  bar  in 


cir.  XIV.       To  Gtii/dford  over  the  Hills.  193 

front  of  a  clock  dated  "  1688,"  and  low-ceilinged  old 
bedrooms  up-stairs,  among  which  you  are  pretty  sure 
to  lose  yourself.  It  is  one  of  the  relics  of  the  England 
of  a  past  age — that  England  which  the  wise  men  think 
so  poorly  of,  but  which  was  quite  as  good  a  place  to 
live  in  as  the  England  of  to-day,  all  things  considered, 
and  perhaps  a  little  better. 

A  pleasant  and  comfortable  town  is  Guildford,  much 
sought  after  as  a  place  of  residence  by  half-pay  officers 
and  ladies  with  a  "little  in  the  funds," — a  respectable, 
though  dull,  community,  "We  have  five  admirals, 
three  generals,  and  I  don't  know  how  many  colonels 
and  captains  waiting  here  now  for  houses."  Thus 
proudly  spake  a  house  agent  there,  and  the  slight  air 
of  contempt  with  which  he  referred  to  such  common- 
place persons  as  captains  served  to  show  what  an  im- 
portant place  Guildford  is.  Such  a  town  as  this  in  the' 
United  States  would  have  three  or  four  newspapers 
published  in  it — here,  I  believe,  there  is  but  one. 
Perhaps  the  English  provincial  journalist  is  more  fasti- 
dious than  his  American  cousin,  who  sometimes  finds 
a  newspaper  anything  but  a  source  of  wealth.  "We 
are  out  of  meat,  money,  and  other  things.  We  are  out 
at  elbow.  We  are  out  of  patience."  This  was  the 
doleful  complaint  of  an  Arkansas  editor,  poor  man, 
not  long  ago.  Another  aspiring  intellect  in  Ohio 
boasted  of  having  i-eceived  one  hundred  and  fifty  new 
subscribers,  but  added,  "We  want  about  two  hundred 
more  subscribers;  we  need  a  new  pair  of  socks."  It 
was   a   more   fortunate  journalist  who  published   the 


1 94        Field  Paths  and  Green  Lanes,     en.  xiv. 

following  triumphant  leading  article  in  a  Tennessee 
paper  :  "  Halleluyer  !  we've  got  a  new  shirt."  Let  us 
hope  that  the  craft  drive  a  more  flourishing  trade  in 
this  excellent  town  of  Guildford. 

While  endeavouring  to  slake  a  raging  thirst  at  the 
"Angel,"  with  sparkling  hock  and  seltzer  water,  two 
sunburnt  and  awkward-looking  men  entered  the  room. 
Tlicy  sat  down  at  the  table,  and  one  said  to  the  other, 
"  I  have  ordered  a  thick  soup,  some  salmon,  some 
corned  beef,  and  a  claret  cup."  And  a  very  strange 
mixture  it  is  too,  thought  I,  at  three  o'clock  in  the 
afternoon  on  a  broiling  hot  day.  Perhaps  they  are 
going  to  use  the  claret  cup  as  a  sauce  for  the  salmon. 

No,  they  did  not  do  that,  but  they  drank  it  copiously 
with  the  soup — a  strong,  dark-coloured  soup,  an  old- 
fashioned  commercial  traveller's  soup,  in  which  the 
spoon  will  almost  stand  upright.  It  was  passed  round 
three  times — an  awful  thing  to  witness  on  a  hot  day. 
Then  these  wonderful  men  began  to  exchange  notes 
of  foreign  travel,  and  the  following  conversation  took 
place : — 

"How  did  you  like  Bolong  ?  " 

"  Pretty  well,  but  what  an  ignorant  set  they  are 
there !  I  went  to  the  Station  Hotel  and  asked  what 
we  could  'eve  to  eat.  They  said,  'Anything  you  like 
to  order.'  So  I  said,  'Soup  and  cutlets.'  They  brought 
me  about  half  as  many  cutlets  as  I  could  have  eat 
myself,  and  there  were  three  of  us  !  '  What  Avill  you 
like  afterwards  ?'  says  the  waiter.  Says  I,  '  A  meat  tea, 
and  cook  half  a  sheep  for  us.'  "     Here  the  two  epicures 


CH.  xiA',       To  Gitildfo7^d  over  the  Hills.  195 

nearly  choked  themselves  under  the  combined  influences 
of  laughter  and  huge  masses  of  food. 

"  Them  French,"  said  the  other,  "  don't  know  what 
good  eatin'  means.  When  I  was  theer,  they  told  me  I 
could  have  twenty-five  courses,  but  I  'ud  rather  'eve 
'ed  a  bit  of  salmon  than  'em  all,  (Putting  half  a 
pound  or  so  in  his  mouth).  They  know  nothing 
about  cookin'  or  eatin'." 

"  The  women  are  all  ugly,"  the  salmon-devourer 
went  on,  "  and  did  you  ever  see  such  guys  as  the 
men  ? " 

That  is  3^our  opinion  of  the  Frenchmen,  thought  I. 
I  would  now  give  a  great  deal  to  hear  their  opinion  of 
you. 

What  were  these  men,  I  wondered  —  farmers  ? 
Fanners  sitting  here  drinking  claret  cup,  and  gorging 
themselves  with  soup  and  salmon  at  three  in  the  after- 
noon of  a  hot  day  ?  That  was  scarcely  likely.  So  when 
I  paid  my  bill,  I  said  to  the  host,  "  Pray  what  are  those 
two  gentlemen  in  there — bagmen  ?  " 

"  Auctioneers,"  said  he  in  a  solemn  whisper. 

"Ah,  good  morning,  Mr.  Michaux." 

"  Good  morning,  sir." 

Whew  !  What  a  relief  it  is  to  get  into  the  blessed 
fields  and  fresh  air  once  more  after  sitting  in  the 
same  room  for  an  hour  with  some  of  our  dear  fellow 
creatures. 


CHAPTER    XV. 

ri^OM    CATElillAM    TO    GODSTONE. 

A  Country  of  Hill  ami  Yale.— More  "  Laiul-Gnibbcrs." — A  Cluster  of 
Villages. — "Warliiiglmm  and  Tatsiield. — Cross  Country  toTitse)'. 
—The  Poor  Church  and  its  Kich  Brother.— The  "Bull"  at 
Limpsfield.  —  A  Native  Critic;  of  Planners  and  Custom.s.  — 
Emigration.  — "  Everybody  Well  Off  Abroad."— A  Little  Ad- 
venture in  a  Church. — Tamlridge  Church. — The  Old  Yew. — A 
Station  Two  ililes  from  Anywhere. — A  Dull  End  to  a  Day's 
Journo}-. 

The  country  all  round  Caterliam  is  so  broken  up  by 
hills  and  valleys  that  the  well-known  "bicyclist"  who 
lives  in  the  neighbourhood  must  find  it  no  easy  matter 
to  make  his  way  about.  The  roads  go  a  long  way 
round,  and  there  are  some  places  not  actually  more 
than  four  or  five  miles  from  Caterham,  which  cannot 
be  reached  by  less  than  ten  miles  of  travelling  by  any 
kind  of  conveyance,  not  excepting  that  ugly,  bewildering, 
and  offensive  machine,  the  bicycle.  Thus,  to  Tatsfield 
the  walk  over  the  hill  does  not  exceed  five  miles,  while 
by  road  it  is  not  less  than  nine.  Anybody  who  wishes 
to  see  the  pretty  village  of  Warlingham,  and  one  or  two 
other  places  on  the  way,  must  do  as  I  did — drive  over 
to  Tatsfield,  and  perform  the  remainder  of  the  journey 
to  Godstone  on  foot. 


CH.  XV.       From  Cater  ham  to  Gods  tone.  197 

In  this  manner  the  nature  of  the  country  in  the 
neighbourhood  of  Caterham  may  be  seen  to  advantage, 
the  total  distance  traversed  being  between  sixteen  and 
seventeen  miles.  The  roads  are  all  up  and  down-hill, 
and  the  valleys  run  off  in  various  contrary  directions  in 
a  most  confusing  manner.  The  man  who  drove  me  to 
Tatsfield  had  lived  in  Caterham  many  years,  and  had 
very  little  to  say  in  favour  of  it.  Was  it  a  growing 
place  ?     I  ashed  him. 

"  No,  leastways  not  so  much  as  it  ought  to  be.  You 
see  they  bought  up  the  land  about  here  some  time  ago, 
for  perhaps  568  or  £4  an  acre,  and  now  they  charge 
anything  they  like  for  it.  I  suppose  you  could  not  get 
an  acre  under  £300,  perhaps  more.  That  keeps  people 
away," 

"  And  who  has  done  this  ? " 

"The  tradespeople  and  others  in  Caterham." 

"  So  there  are  other  people  who  are  '  land-grabbers ' 
besides  the  large  landowners,"  said  I. 

"Ob,  yes — we  are  not  much  troubled  about  here 
with  the  landlords.  That  gentleman  I  was  telling  of 
you  about  (the  bicyclist)  has  only  a  small  place.  Isn't 
it  odd.  Sir,  as  a  near-sighted  gent  should  fly  around 
like  that  on  one  of  them  queer  things?  Wonder  he 
don't  meet  with  an  accident  ?  Why  he  does — with  lots 
on  'em.  I've  seen  him  come  off  myself,  and  then  he 
run  agin  a  man  at  the  bottom  of  the  road  here,"  and 
he  went  on  to  tell  me  a  doleful  story  which  lasted  until 
we  reached  Warlingham,  a  very  pleasant  and  quaint 
old   village,  with   a   pretty   inn    called   the   "Leather 


198         Field  Paths  and  Green  Lanes,      ch.  xv. 

Bottle  "  standing  in  front  of  the  village  green.  A  little 
way  further  along  the  road  the  church  spire  of  Chels- 
hani  shows  itself  among  the  trees,  and  we  can  see  the 
wooded  grounds  in  which  one  of  the  large  houses  of  this 
part,  the  "  Ledgers,"  lies  concealed. 

The  road  winds  round  past  a  public  house  to  Worms 
Heath,  as  pleasant  a  spot  as  any  man  need  wish  to  see 
on  a  summer's  day.  The  views  are  far  reaching  and 
delightful  in  every  direction — the  Crystal  Palace  shines 
brightly  in  the  distance,  and  on  the  other  side  of  the 
road  you  have  miles  upon  miles  of  downs  spread  before 
you,  and  Leith  Hill  can  be  made  out  beyond  the 
Reigate  range.  Then  we  come  to  a  clump  of  beeches 
known  as  "  Coldharbour,"  and  presently  the  road  takes 
another  long  swing  round,  and  we  are  at  Tatsfield 
Church.  There  I  dismiss  my  friend  the  driver,  not 
sorry  to  be  alone  on  the  good  road  once  more.  "I 
hope  you  will  not  meet  Mr.  Blank  with  his  bicycle," 
said  I. 

"Thank  you,  Sir,"  said  he,  "he  would  never  see  me 
if  I  did  no  more  nor  if  I  wasn't  theer." 

Tatsfield  Church  stands  on  the  top  of  a  hill,  and  is 
evidently  not  one  of  tlie  new  fashionable  and  gim-crack 
places  of  worship.  I  did  not  observe  the  traces  of 
many  carriage  wheels  on  the  road,  and  the  bare  cold 
walls  and  rough  seats  inside  spoke  of  a  small  rustic 
conirreaation.  The  chancel  has  been  restored,  but  the 
whole  place  has  a  cheerless  and  barn-like  aspect,  and 
cold  shivers  gradually  steal  down  one's  back  after  stand- 
in^r  in  it  a  few  minutes.     There  is  a  stone  tablet  on  the 


CH.  XV.        From  Caterham  to  Godstone.  1 99 

wall  to  the  memory  of  John  Corbett,  who  died  in  1711, 
and  on  the  clerk's  small  readmg  desk  below  the  pulpit 
I  noticed  the  letters  "R  H  E.  1661."  No  other  sign  of 
monument  or  record  is  there  in  this  primitive  old 
church.  "Over  the  communion  table,"  says  Manning, 
"  the  Decalogue,  Lord's  Prayer,  and  Creed  are  written 
in  a  most  curious  but  very  small  hand,  and  behind 
them  is  a  beautiful  painting  in  perspective,  representing 
the  inside  of  a  Gothic  church."  There  are  no  traces  of 
these  curiosities  left  now,  and  the  woman  who  showed 
me  the  arch  had  never  heard  of  them,  neither  had  an 
elderly  workman,  who  was  repairing  the  gate  outside. 
If  the  building  has  little  to  boast  of  in  point  of  archi- 
tectural beauty,  there  is  a  view  from  the  churchyard 
which  might  well  draw  pilgrims  hither,  and  which  is 
worth  going  half-a-day's  journey  to  see.  Nothing 
can  rob  the  neglected  old  church  of  this  great  attrac- 
tion. In  the  churchyard,  moreover,  there  is  a  very 
large  y€w  tree,  apparently  suffering  somewhat  from 
time  and  weather,  but  still  putting  on  a  good  thick 
green  coat  and  making  believe  to  think  nothing  of 
its  age. 

No  old  stager  would  have  the  patience  to  follow 
the  roads  hereabouts, — instinct,  if  nothing  else,  would 
compel  him  to  take  to  the  fields  and  woods,  and  trust 
to  luck  for  finding  his  way  out.  But  as  you  can  see 
the  spire  of  Titsey  church  from  a  corner  of  Tatsfield 
churchyard,  there  can  be  no  danger  of  wandering  far 
astray.  The  field  which  adjoins  the  churchyard  must 
be  taken,  and  that  will  bring  you,  at  the  farther  end. 


200         Field  Paths  afid  Green  Lafies.      ch.  xv. 

upon  the  turnpike  road.  Cross  that,  and  go  through  a 
gate  into  another  fiekl,  and  k(^p  along  the  upper  side 
till  you  see  a  third  field,  in  which  the  ciiaracteristics  of 
this  region  are  pleasantly  Lrought  together  into  a  small 
space — for  in  the  middle  it  suddenly  dips  down  and 
forms  a  miniature  valley,  with  hills  beyond,  so  that  you 
almost  begin  to  feel  mystified,  and  fancy  that  if  you 
look  over  your  left  shoulder  you  will  see  Caterham 
again.  A  more  iinhandy  field  it  would  be  hard  to 
find,  for  the  pitch  is  so  sudden  and  so  deep,  that  even 
the  sheep  graze  along  its  sides  with  difficulty.  Beyond 
this  field,  however,  there  is  a  lovely  view  over  towards 
East  Grinstead  in  one  direction,  and  towards  Sevenoaks 
and  Tunbridge  down  the  valley — the  tops  of  the  hills 
being  all  wild  common  land,  or  "  chart "  as  a  man  on 
the  road  called  it.  The  whole  scene  is  a  bold  and 
striking  one,  and  it  is  not  without  many  a  backward 
look  that  one  leaves  the  field  with  the  big  hole  in  it, 
and  turns  into  a  narrow  lane,  which  brings  us  out 
on  the  turnpike  road  a  little  above  Titsey  church.  A 
very  different  building  this  from  the  church  we  have 
just  left  behind  us !  It  has  been  built  by  Mr.  Leveson- 
Gower,  who  has  a  house  close  by,  and  everything  about 
it  is  neat,  clean,  and  comfortable.  The  church  has 
been  completed,  inside  and  out,  with  great  care  and 
liberality,  and  the  churchyard  is  as  trim  and  well-kept 
as  a  garden.  Just  below  it  are  two  or  three  good  old 
cottages,  and  the  parsonage  at  a  little  distance  looks  a 
homely  as  well  as  a  picturesque  place.  The  "turnpike" 
is  like  the  finest  park  road.     The  Avhole  place  has  a 


CH.  XV.        From  Cater  ham  to  Gods  tone.  201 


Sunday-like  aspect — so  well  swept  and  brushed  up  that 
one  is  almost  afraid  to  walk  about  for  fear  of  dirtying 
something. 

Limpsfield  is  rather  less  than  a  mile  and  half  away 
— the  outlying  houses  can  be  seen  from  Titsey.  After 
following  the  road  a  short  distance,  the  visitor  can 
strike  into  the  fields  on  the  left,  and  make  his  way  to 
the  church.  This,  again,  is  totally  unlike  the  other 
churches  we  have  passed — evidently  the  church  of  a 
large  parish,  with  the  graveyard  covered  \vith  tomb- 
stones, among  them  a  stone  near  the  wail  of  the  church 
with  a  staring  coat  of  arms  engraved  upon  it.  There 
are  few  places  in  which  the  mummery  of  heraldry 
could  seem  more  absurd.  An  old  manor  house  nearly 
opposite  the  church  south,  was  once,  according  to 
Murray's  Guide,  "occupied  by  the  widow  of  Philip 
Stanhope,  the  natural  son  of  Lord  Chesterfield,  whose 
well-known  letters  to  her  husband  were  published  by 
Mrs.  Stanhope  after  his  death."  In  the  upper  part  of 
the  village  street  are  one  or  two  small  shops  and  the 
"Bull  Inn,"  whither  I  made  haste  to  go  for  a  frugal  lunch. 
I  found  a  notice  inside  the  little  bar  (which  is  only 
about  half  as  large  again  as  the  painted  Bull  on  the 
sign-post  outside)  making  public  the  important  fact 
that  "  parriffen  oil "  could  be  obtained  there  at  Is.  per 
gallon;  but  this,  although  tempting,  was  not  quite  what 
I  was  in  seai'ch  of.  You  cannot  make  a  really  good 
lunch  on  "parriffen  oil."  Ultimately  I  succeeded  in 
getting  some  bread  and  cheese,  and  while  I  was  work- 
ing my  way  through  a  "  hunch  "  of  dry  bread,  an  old 
10 


202         Field  Paths  and  Green  Lanes,      ch.  xv. 

man  came  in  and  called  for  a  glass  of  stovit.  He  was 
one  of  the  cross-grained  scandal-mongering  persons 
who  seem  so  common  in  rural  villages — full  of  little 
ill-natured  gossip  and  sour  remarks.  Presently  I 
managed  to  get  into  conversation  with  him  by  asking 
liini  if  that  was  not  a  very  old  house  just  opposite 
the  inn  ? 

"  Hold  ? "  said  he.  "  Yes,  and  it  might  do  Avell  enough 
for  a  hofficer's  widow  or  a  hold  parson  as  ain't  no  use, 
but  it  ain't  fit  for  a  human  being  to  live  in  as  is  of  any 
account." 

Not  being  quite  prepared  for  this  outburst  against 
an  inoffensive  looking  house,  I  said  nothing.  But  the 
landlady,  who  was  wiping  a  glass,  interposed  :  "  Ac- 
count, indeed  ?  you  are  letting  your  tongue  wag  pretty 
free  to-day,  I  think." 

"  Well,  this  is  a  free  country,  ain't  it?  Ain't  it,  Sir?" 
turning  to  me. 

"  I  have  always  understood  so,"  said  I,  not  wishing 
to  commit  myself  too  far  before  so  slashing  a  critic. 

"  May  I  make  bold  to  ask  what  brings  you  out  in 
this  here  out-o'-the  way  place.  Sir  ? " 

"  1  want  to  see  some  churches." 

"  Well,  well  ! "  looking  at  me  curiously,  as  if  I  were 
an  escaped  lunatic.  "  We  has  artists  down  here  some- 
times— I  Icnow  they  are  poor,  and  I  don't  believe  they 
are  over  honest.  But  I  never  seed  a  gent  as  wasn't  an 
artist  going  about  looking  at  churches.  As  for  being 
poor,  I  don't  mind  that.  Gi'  me  a  poor  man  anytime 
of  day  rather  than  a  rich  one." 


cir.  XV.        From  Cater  ham  to  Gods  tone.  203 

"  Then  you  live  in  a  world  Avhere  you  can  be  very 
easily  accommodated." 

"  I  tell  you  what  it  is,"  said  this  old  man,  thumping 
his  fist  on  the  bar,  '•'  the  rich  are  too  stuck  up,  and  I 
want  to  see  'em  took  down.  They  throw  a  word  to  you 
when  they  do  speak  as  if  they  thro  wed  a  bone  to  a  dog. 

Look  at  Mr. (mentioning  a  name).     Why  you'd 

think  he  was  made  of  some  better  kind  of  stuff  than 
you  are." 

"I  don't  know  that  he  is  not,"  said  I;  "perhaps  he  is." 

"  I  know  what  I'd  do  if  I  were  young  enough — I'd 
get  away  from  'em  all,  and  emigrate  to  Canady  or 
Horsetralia,  where  one  man  is  as  good  as  another. 
Everybody  is  rich  over  there,  or  leastways  it's  their  own 
fault  if  they  ain't." 

"But,"  said  I,  "I  thought  you  did  not  like  the  rich  ? 
You  don't  mean  to  tell  me  you  want  to  belong  to  them 
yourself? " 

"  You  are  getting  into  a  mess,"  said  the  landlady. 

"  That's  my  business  if  I  am,"  growled  the  man. 
"I'm  not  rambling  around  pretending  to  look  at 
churches.     I  can  pay  for  what  I  have,  /  can." 

Evidently  I  was  becoming  a  prey  to  the  local  satirist, 
and  therefore  I  went  on  munching  my  bread  and  cheese 
in  silence.  "  Would  I  stand  some  beer  ? "  said  my 
acquaintance,  presently.  No,  I  would  not  do  that,  but 
I  offered  to  treat  him  to  a  yeoman's  draught  of  "pariffen 
oil,"  for  of  all  other  liquors  he  had  evidently  had  enough 
and  to  spare.  But  he  did  not  care  for  that,  and  soon  I 
went  on  my  way  in  peace. 


204        Field  Paths  ajid  Green  Lanes,      ch.  xv. 

Beyond  the  cottage  on  the  left  hand  side  of  the  road, 
after  leaving  tlie  "  Bull  "  at  Limpsfield,  there  is  a  lane, 
which  presently  leads  across  a  little  wooden  bridge,  and 
then  into  fields.  This  is  the  shortest  road  to  the  next 
village  on  this  little  circuit — the  village  of  Oxtead, 
distant  about  a  mile  and  a  half  from  Limpsfield.  The 
path  across  the  fields  is  a  beaten  track,  but  rather 
rough  when  ploughing  operations  are  going  on,  I 
nearly  stuck  fast  in  the  soft  wet  earth  two  or  three 
times.  At  last,  however,  I  came  out  upon  the  hard 
road,  and  passed  through  a  farmyard,  and  so  to  the 
old  church  of  Oxtead,  with  its  great  heavy  wsquare 
tower,  and  a  substantial  farm-house  near  its  gates. 
This  church  has  suffered  much  in  its  time  from  fire 
or  lightning ;  it  is  recorded  that  in  or  about  the 
year  1637  it  received  its  first  heavy  blow,  and  that  in 
1719  "  it  was  burnt  by  a  great  tempest  of  lightning." 
All  the  five  bells  were  melted  by  that  fire,  but  ten 
years  later  a  new  peal  was  placed  in  the  old  tower,  and 
on  one  of  them  there  is  an  inscription  which  says  : — 

"  Good  folks,  with  one  accord 
We  call  to  hear  God's  word 
We  honour  to  the  king 
Joy  to  brides  do  sing 
We  triumphs  loudly  tell 
And  Ring  j'our  last  Farewell." 

The  church  door  was  open,  and  a  woman  was  sweeping 
in  the  gallery — an  accident  which  very  nearly  led  to 
awkward  results.  For  while  I  was  looking  round  the 
church,  and   wondering   at   its    size    and    reading   the 


cH.  XV.       From  Caterham  to  Godstone.  205 

inscriptions  on  the  monuments,  the  woman  went  out. 
I  heard  her  shut  the  door,  but  presuming  she  had  seen 
me  enter,  I  thought  nothing  of  it.  The  inscription  to 
the  wife  of  one  of  the  old  lords  of  the  manor,  Charles 
Hoskyns  (1651),  seemed  to  indicate  that  the  worthy 
lady  did  not  have  a  "  good  time  "  of  it  in  this  world. 
"Let  this  Patterne  of  Piety,  Mapp  of  Misery,  MiiTour  of 
Patience,  here  Best."  So  ran  the  writing.  Pews  had 
been  put  in  the  chancel  without  much  regard  for  the 
brasses  and  old  monuments,  some  of  which  have  been 
cut  clean  in  half.  Can  it  be  that  this  large  church  is  so 
crowded  with  worshippers  as  to  need  those  pews  nearly 
up  to  the  railing  of  the  communion-table  ?  The  whole 
church  has  the  appearance  of  being  built  like  a  fortress, 
to  resist  an  assault.  As  I  thought  this  I  tried  to  open 
the  door,  but  found  it  locked.  I  listened  for  some  sound, 
but  could  hear  none.  It  seemed  to  me  that  there  was 
likely  to  be  another  "  Mapp  of  Misery  and  Mirrour  of 
Patience"  in  the  church  before  the  day  was  over.  It 
was  then  Friday,  and  the  opportunity  of  studying  the 
old  monuments  till  Sunday  morning  was  not  so  attrac- 
tive as  I  am  sure  it  would  have  been  to  a  well-trained 
mind.  The  windows  were  high  ;  the  door  was  thick.  I 
began  thumping  on  the  latter,  but  for  some  time  there 
was  no  sign  of  any  answer.  At  last,  however,  I  heard  a 
hesitating  step,  and  saw  a  dark  shadow  on  the  slit  of 
light  under  the  door.  Evidently  there  was  some  un- 
certainty about  opening  the  door,  but  after  I  had  made 
several  little  reassuring  speeches,  the  woman  unlocked 
it,  and  stood  with  a  very  white  face  on  the  threshold. 


2o6         Field  Paths  and  Gree7i  Lanes.      ch.  xv. 

I  saw  in  a  moment  that  she  liad  tlie  strongest  doubts 
about  my  belonging  to  this  earth,  and  as  I  had  no  time 
to  argue  the  matter  over  with  her,  I  bade  her  good 
afternoon  in  a  sepulchral  tone  and  "glided"  out  of  sight. 
Beyond  the  strong  tower  of  the  church  there  is  a 
path  going  by  a  small  pond  across  a  field.  From  that 
field  the  fine  old  church,  and  the  red  farm-house  in 
front  of  it,  show  to  great  advantage,  and  to  the  right 
the  village  of  Oxtead,  about  a  quarter  of  a  mile  off,  may 
be  seen  straggling  up  the  liill.  It  is  a  curious  looking 
place,  not  quite  so  dirty  as  a  mining  village  in  South 
Wales,  but  still  recalling  those  districts  in  a  general 
way.  It  is  very  much  like  Blaenavon  for  instance, 
and  the  smoke  of  the  brewery  hanging  over  the  houses, 
and  a  sort  of  "  dolly-shop "  at  one  end  of  the  mean 
street,  increased  the  resemblance.  The  road  from  here 
runs  direct  to  Tandridge,  but  there  is  a  short  and 
pleasant  path  by  the  fields.  After  passing  through 
Oxtead,  keep  on  the  main  road  till  you  come  to  a  gate 
on  the  left  about  half  a  mile  up.  This  leads  through  a 
field  by  a  lime  kiln  to  a  narrow  lane,  and  from  the  end 
of  that  lane  there  is  a  charming  view  over  the  country 
through  which  we  have  been  walking.  Across  some 
meadows,  which  look  like  a  part  of  a  park,  we  descend 
upon  Tandridge  Church — a  place,  like  the  others,  with 
many  historical  associations  connected  with  it.  In  old 
days,  the  Priory  of  Tandridge  must  have  been  a  house 
of  some  little  importance  in  the  village,  but  there  are 
no  remains  of  it  left  to-day.  I  was  not  aware  of  this 
when  I  visited  the  spot,  and  I  asked  an  old  man  on  the 


CH.  XV.        From  Caterhavi  to  Godstone.  207 

road  if  be  could  tell  me  where  the  priory  used  to  be  ? 
"  Why,  there  it  is,"  said  he,  pointing  towards  a  modern 
house  which  I  had  noticed.  "  I  mean  the  old  priory," 
said  I.  "Well,"  said  he  crossly,  "this  is  the  hold 
priory — the  only  one  as  we've  ever  'eerd  tell  on  in 
these  parts."  "So,  then,  the  old  priory,"  I  began. 
"  I  knows  nowt  about  /am — that  theer's  the  priory,  and 
good  enough  for  us."  Nevertheless,  "that  theer"  could 
not  have  been  the  priory  of  which  one  Walter  was 
appointed  prior  in  1306.  The  church  has  a  very 
pleasant  and  homely  aspect,  and  is  evidently  properly 
cared  for  by  the  people  round  about. 

In  this  churchyard  of  Tand ridge  there  are  at  least 
two  things  which  will  arrest  the  traveller's  attention — 
the  enormous  yew  tree,  and  the  elaborately  carved 
monument  to  the  wife  of  Sir  Gilbert  Scott,  the 
architect.  They  are  both  within  a  few  feet  of  each 
other,  so  that  the  yew  shades  the  grave.  The  monu- 
ment looks  far  too  beautiful  to  stand  out  of  doors  in  a 
climate  where  rain  is  not  at  all  unfrequent.  The 
immense  yew  which  almost  touches  it  is  said  to  be 
decaying,  but  it  looks  perfectly  green  and  vigorous. 
Just  below  the  church  are  some  old  cottages,  and  some 
"  carriage-folks'  houses "  are  in  or  near  the  village. 
But  what  interested  me  most  were  the  venerable  yew, 
that  tree  for  which  it  is  difficult  to  avoid  feeling 
an  almost  superstitious  reverence,  the  beautiful  monu- 
ment of  the  artist  to  his  wife,  and  the  sweet,  country 
churchyard,  "  strewed  thick  in  early  spring,"  says  my 
companion,    Murray's    Handhoolc,   "  with   violets    and 


2o8         Field  PatJis  and  Grcc?i  Lanes,      cii.  xv. 

primroses."  It  was  in  November  that  I  stood  there, 
and  "God's  acre  "  was  strewed  thick  with  dead  leaves, 
and  from  tlie  trees  they  came  down  silently  in  showers 
all  around — an  emblem  of  our  poor  human  life  which 
at  such  a  time  and  place  sunk  deeply  into  the  heart. 

From  Tandrid^e  to  Godstone  station  it  is  a  loner, 
roundabout,  tedious  road,  which  may  be  shortened  here 
and  there  by  a  cut  across  fields,  but  in  the  main  has  to 
be  taken  at  its  best  and  worst.  There  is  one  old 
cottage  or  small  farm  on  the  road,  and  a  muddy  wood 
to  cross — but  Godstone  Station  is  at  least  two  miles  and 
a  half  from  Tandridge.  It  is  about  the  same  distance 
from  everywhere  else — a  ridiculous  station,  put  down 
in  the  middle  of  a  country  road,  bearing  a  name  to 
which  it  has  no  right  whatever,  and  serving  simply  as 
a  trap  to  catch  unwary  travellers.  Here  I  was  doomed 
to  wait  three  hours  for  the  next  train,  hungry,  cold, 
tired.  I  tried  the  inn  near  the  station — it  was  a 
cheerless  hole,  full  of  tramps.  The  evening  was  closing 
in  ;  the  mists  and  fog  were  coming  on  heavily  ;  the 
tramps  were  drunk.  I  .should  not  like  to  spend  those 
three  hours  at  Godstone  Station  over  ascain. 


CHAPTEE  XVI. 

NORBURY  PARK,  ALBURY,  AND  THE  DEEPDENE. 

Three  Ancient  Estates. — The  Park  atNorbury. — A  Bargain  in  1719. — 
The  Dniids'  Grove,  and  how  to  find  it. — A  Plague  of  Rabbits. — 
The  Yew  Grove. — A  Giant  Beech. — Butterflies  at  Midnight. — 
A  Desolate  Region. — Albiuy  Park. — The  "  Catholic  Apostolic 
Church," — Mr.  Drummond's  "Cathedral." — Apostolic  "Pre- 
cepts."— The  Gardens  at  Albury. — The  finest  Yew  Hedge  in 
England.— Through  Shere  to  Gomshall. — The  Deepdene  and  its 
Glories. — The  House  and  its  Art  Treasures. — A  Retreat  for  a 
Scholar. — The  Dene  and  the  Beech  Avenue. — Chart  Park  and 
its  Trees. 

These  three  estates  are  not  without  historical  inte- 
rest, although  the  houses  now  standing  upon  them  bear 
no  outward  traces  of  a  long  past.  Of  the  families 
which  first  founded  homes  on  these  beautiful  sites,  or 
enrolled  them  among  their  possessions,  some  have 
entirely  disappeared.  The  Clares,  Earls  of  Gloucester, 
to  whom  Norbury  belonged,  ai-e  remembered  as  part  of 
the  nobility  of  England  in  days  when  no  Disraeli  could 
have  said  of  it,  that  it  consisted  of  "  families  who,  in 
one  century,  plundered  the  church  to  gain  the  property 
of  the  people,  and  in  another  century  changed  the 
dynasty  to  gain  the  power  of  the  Crown."  Albury  and 
the  Deepdene  have  both  been  in  their  day  the  homes 


2IO         Field  Paths  and  Green  Lanes,     ch.  xvi. 

of  the  Howards,  but  the  Deepdene  can  trace  back  its  his- 
tory from  long  before  the  time  when  the  brave  old  Earl 
Warrenne,  who  married  the  daughter  of  William  the 
Conqueror,  held  it  with  the  rest  of  the  manor  of  Dork- 
ing. "  You  ask  me  for  my  title  deeds/'  said  he,  accord- 
ing to  the  well-known  story,  "  there  they  are,"  and  he 
threw  down  his  sword  upon  the  table.  Doubtless  there 
have  been  ere  now  estates  which  were  held  on  title- 
deeds  with  less  claim  to  respect. 

The  man  who  longs  for  solitude  need  not  "  fly  to  a 
lodge  in  some  vast  wildoj'ness,"  for  he  may  find  what, 
he  seeks  at  Norbury,  or  within  a  mile  or  two  of  Albury. 
He  may  wander  about  alone  for  days  together,  and  lose 
himself  in  a  forsaken  region  which  might  be  somewhere 
amid  the  wildernesses  of  the  Far  West — a  region  with- 
out farm  or  shed  to  be  seen,  without  even  the  bark  of 
a  doff  or  the  crowing  of  a  cock  to  be  heard  for  miles 
around.  England  is,  as  we  have  often  been  told,  a 
"densely  overcrowded  country,"  but  several  places  could 
be  pointed  out  on  the  map  in  which  room  for  a  few 
more  families  could  still  be  found. 

Norbury  Park  abounds  with  splendid  trees,  sheltered 
woodland  paths,  and  broad  views  over  the  loveliest 
parts  of  Surrey.  It  is  not  a  place  to  be  seen  at  one 
visit,  but  to  be  wandered  over  at  leisure,  sometimes 
in  the  lower  parts  in  company  with  the  river  Mole, 
sometimes  among  the  Avoods  through  whicb  even  a 
July  sun  scarcely  has  the  jjower  to  pierce,  and  where 
the  ground  is  covered  with  cool  green  moss  on  the 
hottest  summer's  day.     Armed  with  a  pencil  or  a  book, 


CH.  XVI.   No7'bury  Park,  Albury,  Deep  dene.     211 

or  wishing  merely  to  pursue  his  own  thoughts  in  peace, 
the  wanderer  here  need  fear  no  interruption.  Ho  will 
rarely  hear  any  footfall  but  his  own.  He  may  enter 
the  park  at  Mickleham,  and  stroll  quietly  on  by  the 
Mole,  through  meadows  which  are  in  themselves  ob- 
jects of  perfect  beauty— English  fields  such  as  many  a 
traveller  in  foreign  lands  would  give  a  year  of  his  life 
to  see  again.  Or  he  may  turn  towards  the  house,  and 
soon  find  himself  half  lost  amidst  noble  oaks  and 
beeches  which  are  here  still  contending  for  the  mastery. 
But,  better  than  all,  he  may  penetrate  to  that  secluded 
spot  still  known  as  the  Druids'  Grove.  If  the  visitor 
who  desires  to  see  that  shrine  of  tree-lovers  will  place 
himself  upon  the  bridge  across  the  railroad  in  West- 
humble  Lane,  and  look  before  him  to  the  north,  he 
will  see  a  narrower  lane  winding  past  a  cottage.  Let 
this  be  followed  almost  to  the  end,  an  up-hill  road 
though  it  will  prove,  and  then  at  the  right  hand  there 
will  be  seen  a  five-barred  gate.  Pass  through  that,  and 
neither  heat  of  sun,  nor  sight  or  sound  of  your  fellow 
mortal  will  disturb  you.  It  will  be  strange  if  you  meet 
man,  woman,  or  child  throughout  these  delightful 
groves,  where  the  dead  leaves  lie  a  whole  year  upon 
the  ground,  and  in  the  thickest  parts  of  which  it  is 
not  much  more  than  twdlight  at  noon  in  midsummer. 

Presently  the  path  opens  upon  a  patch  of  green 
sward,  with  a  belt  of  ferns  in  the  background,  and 
here  and  there  an  isolated  yew — a  sort  of  forerunner  of 
the  venerable  army  which  is  drawn  up  in  solemn  gran- 
deur below.     Everywhere  the  noise  of  a  footstep  will 


2 1 2  Field  Paths  and  Green  Lanes,     en.  xvi. 

cause  myriads  of  rabbits  to  start  up  from  the  grass  or 
ferns,  and  make  for  their  warrens  in  all  directions. 
The  wilder  parts  of  the  park  are  alive  with  rabbits,  and 
the  surface  of  the  ground  is  rotten  with  their  holes. 
There  is  a  certain  path  between  woods,  on  the  Mickle- 
ham  side,  which  is  rapidly  being  undermined  by  these 
vermin,  and  wdicn  you  begin  to  intrude  on  their  ter- 
ritory, a  large  army  rises  up  and  flies  down  the  hill- 
side from  before  you,  scuttling  among  the  dry  leaves 
with  a  sound  like  the  rush  of  rain.  The  owners  of 
such  estates  as  this  would  gain  rather  than  lose  by 
allowing  the  poor  to  make  a  dinner  occasionally  ofJ 
the  rabbits  which  infest  their  grounds.  There  is  no 
danger  that  the  animal  would  ever  become  scarce — 
nature  has  made  ample  provision  against  that.  When 
one  sees  the  havoc  made  by  rabbits  in  a  garden  or 
park,  it  scarcely  seems  worth  while  to  send  a  poor 
man  to  prison  for  catching  one  without  leave.  "  A 
young  oak,"  says  the  author  of  "  Forest  Scenery,"  "just 
vegetating  from  the  acorn,  is  esteemed  by  these  per- 
nicious inmates  the  most  delicious  food.  Thus  it  may 
be  said,  the  glory  of  England  may  be  nipped  in  the 
bud  by  a  paltry  rabbit."  Is  it  absolutely  necessary  to 
fence  this  creature  round  with  penal  laws  ? 

The  open  patch  of  sward  is  not  far  from  the  house, 
from  the  windows  of  which  there  are  some  of  the  love- 
liest views  in  Surrey.  A  carpenter  with  whom  I  once 
had  a  chat  on  the  road  said  to  me,  "I  have  worked  in 
every  large  house  in  this  county,  and  in  my  opinion  the 
house  at  Norbury  is  the  best  situated  of  all."     I  have 


CH.  XVI.   Norbtiry  Park,  Albiiry,  Dccpdene.     213 

no  doubt  he  is  right,  and  most  people  who  survey  the 
surrounding  country  from  the  lawn  will  think  so  too. 
The  house  contains  some  paintings  supposed  to  be  a 
"  continuation  of  the  landscape  without/'  but  in  this 
instance  art  has  been  left  far  behind  by  nature.  The 
building  is  not  worthy  of  the  spot  in  which  it  is  placed 
— it  may  almost  be  said  that  it  is  common-looking  and 
unsightly  when  you  are  close  to  it,  although  it  makes  a 
good  appearance  from  a  distance.  In  Evelyn's  day,  the 
estate  belonged  to  Sir  F.  Stidolph  (or  Stydolf),  and 
since  then  it  has  passed  through  several  hands.  The 
whole  property,  consisting  of  the  mansion  and  about 
527  acres,  was  sold  in  1819  for  £19,000— to-day  I 
suppose  that  £150,000  would  not  buy  it.  In  Evelyn's 
"  Diary,"  (Vol.  II.,  p.  295)  he  speaks  of  it  as  a  "  seate 
environ'd  with  elme-trees  and  walnuts  innumerable. 
*  *  Here  are  such  goodly  walkes  and  hills  shaded 
with  yew  and  box  as  render  the  place  extreamely 
agreeable,  it  seeming  from  these  ever-greens  to  be 
summer  all  the  winter."  It  is  wonderful  that  so  great 
a  tree-lover  as  Evelyn  should  have  made  no  other 
reference  but  this  to  the  yew-trees  of  Norbury,  and 
that  even  Mr.  Selby,  in  his  excellent  work  on  "  Forest 
Trees,"  should  pass  them  over  unnoticed. 

A  private  path  southward  of  the  house  leads  straight 
down  to  the  Druids'  Walk.  It  is  best  to  approach  it 
from  the  upper  end,  and  to  go  in  summer  when  the 
oaks  and  beeches  are  in  full  foliage,  for  then  the  shade 
they  cast  adds  much  to  the  mysterious  appearance  of 
the  grove.    'I  believe  that  permission  to  go  over  the 


214         Field  PatJis  and  Green  Lanes,     ch.  xvi. 

grounds,  and  downwards  through  the  path  marked 
"  private,"  is  seldom  refused  if  asked  for  at  the  house. 
The  DruicJs'  walk  is  long  and  narrow,  with  a  declivity, 
in  some  places  rather  steep,  to  the  left  hand,  and  rising 
ground  to  the  right,  all  densely  covered  with  trees. 
The  yew  begins  to  make  its  appearance  soon  after  the 
little  gate  is  passed,  like  the  advance  guard  of  an  army. 
In  certain  spots  it  seems  to  have  successfully  driven  out 
all  other  trees.  As  the  path  descends,  the  shadows 
deepen,  and  you  arrive  at  a  spot  wdiere  a  mass  of  yews 
of  great  size  and  vast  ago  stretch  up  the  hill,  and  beyond 
to  the  left  as  far  as  the  eye  can  penetrate  through  the 
obscurity.  The  trees  in  their  long  and  slow  growth 
have  assumed  many  wild  forms,  and  the  visitor  who 
stands  there  towards  evening,  and  peers  into  that  sombre 
grove,  Avill  sometimes  yield  to  the  spell  which  the  scene 
is  sure  to  exercise  on  imaginative  natures — he  will  half 
fancy  that  these  ghostly  trees  are  conscious  creatures, 
and  that  they  have  marked  with  mingled  pity  and 
scorn  the  long  processions  of  mankind  come  and  go 
like  the  irisects  of  a  day,  through  the  centuries  during 
which  they  have  been  stretching  out  their  distorted 
limbs  nearer  and  nearer  to  each  other.  Thick  fibrous 
shoots  spring  out  from  their  trunks,  awakening  in  the 
memory  long-forgotten  stories  of  Imge  hairy  giants, 
enemies  of  mankind,  even  as  the  "  double-fatal  yew  " 
itself  was  supposed  to  be  in  other  days.  The  bark 
stands  in  distinct  layers,  the  outer  ridges  mouldering 
away,  like  the  fragments  of  a  wall  of  some  ruined 
castle.     The  tops  are  fresh  and  green,  but  h.11  below  in 


CH.  XVI.   Nor  bury  Park,  Albiiry,  Deep  dene.     215 


that  sunless  recess  seems  dead.  At  the  foot  of  the 
deepest  part  of  the  grove  there  is  a  seat  beneath  a 
stern  old  king  of  the  wood,  but  the  genius  loci  seems 
to  warn  the  intruder  to  depart — ancient  superstitions 
are  rekindled,  and  the  haggard  trees  themselves  seem 
to  threaten  that  from  a  sleep  beneath  the  "  baleful 
yew,"  the  weary  mortal  will  wake  no  more. 

Beyond  this  grove  the  yews  lead  the  way  down  hill, 
and  on  the  right  hand,  in  an  opening,  there  grows  a 
majestic  beech,  full  twenty-four  feet  in  girth  at  five 
feet  from  the  ground.  It  throws  out  its  roots  more  than 
fifty  feet,  and  they  are  all  gnarled  and  interlaced,  and 
covered  with  moss.  The  lower  branches  reach  to  the 
ground,  and  run  far  along  it,  while  the  trunk  looks  like 
the  body  of  some  huge  elephant,  bearing  many  a  deep 
scar  which  time  and  weather  have  left  as  traces  of  their 
heavy  blows.  Here  and  there  the  wounds  have  been 
covered  with  iron  bands,  and  huge  props  have  been 
placed  under  the  drooping  branches.  A  nobler  tree,  far 
stricken  in  age  as  it  is,  it  would  be  hard  to  find.  Just 
below  it,  a  worthy  companion,  there  is  a  grisly  yew, 
standing  all  across  the  path,  as  if  to  forbid  further  pro- 
gress. The  branches  touch  the  ground  all  about  it,  and 
cover  a  circumference  of  230  feet.  I  measured  it  with 
care.  There  is  another  yew  hard  by  which  is  twenty- 
three  feet  in  circumference,  but  this  measurement  is 
partly  caused  by  a  cleft  in  the  trunk.  The  dark  colour 
of  the  yew  is  beautifully  relieved  in  summer  by  the 
tender  green  of  the  ash,  "  Where  the  oak  decays  in 
this  park,"  says  Brayley,  in  his  "  History  of  Surrey," 


2i6         Field  PatJis  and  Green  Ladies,     on.  xvi. 

"  the  beech  succeeds ;  and  where  the  beech  decays,  the 
ash  springs  up  spontaneously."  The  Rev.  C.  A.  Johns, 
in  his  interesting  work  on  the  "Forest  Trees  of  Britain," 
quotes  a  letter  from  Evelyn,  in  Aubrey's  "Surrey,"  which 
refers  to  this  supplanting  of  the  oak  by  the  beech. 
"  That  which  I  would  observe  to  you  from  the  wood  of 
Woottou  is,  that  where  goodly  Oaks  grew,  and  were  cut 
down  by  my  grandfather  almost  a  hundred  years  since, 
is  now  altogether  Beech  ;  and  where  my  brother  has 
extirpated  the  Beech,  there  rises  Birch."  This  process 
may  easily  be  traced  in  the  Druids'  Walk,  but  there  the 
ash  succeeds  the  beech.  In  Brayley  there  is  also  a  note 
wliich  may  be  of  interest  to  some  visitors  here,  for  it 
states  that  the  "rare  moth,  the  dotted  chestnut  {(jleQj 
ruhiginea),  of  which  the  locality  is  said  to  be  unknown," 
frequents  the  yews  in  the  Druids'  Grove  when  "  the 
berries  are  ripe,  and  becoming  intoxicated  with  the 
juice  is  easily  caught  about  the  midnight  hour  in 
October."  Perhaps  there  are  not  many  persons  who 
being  suddenly  set  down  in  the  Druids'  Grove  at  the 
midnight  hour,  w^ould  be  much  inclined  to  go  off  in 
pursuit  of  moths. 

Beyond  the  yew  which  stands  all  across  the  path, 
there  is  another  little  gate,  and  from  that  a  path 
bearing  to  the  right  will  lead  out  into  Westhumble 
lane.  Just  above  the  railroad  station  (the  Boxhill 
station  of  the  Brighton  line)  there  is  a  road  leading  to 
Chapel  Farm  and  Ranmore  Common,  or  by  a  short  cut 
across  the  fields  and  Mr.  Cubitt's  carriage  drive,  to 
Dorking.     The  latter  road  will   take  the  visitor  past 


en.  XVI.   No7'b2iry  Park,  Aldury,  Deepdene.     217 

"  Camilla  Lacey,"  the  house  (now  enlarged)  in  which 
Madame  D'Arblay  wrote  "  Camilla,"  and  in  which  she 
lived  for  many  years. 

Albury  Park  is  very  unlike  Norbury,  but  it  has 
many  charms  of  its  own,  not  the  least  among  them 
being  an  old  yew  hedge  and  some  noble  trees.  If  the 
visitor  will  go  past  Mr.  Drummoud's  "  cathedral " — 
which  is  more  frequented  than  any  other  place  of  worship 
for  miles  round — and  will  make  his  way  over  the  hills 
to  East  Horsley  (a  road  only  to  be  found  by  making 
enquiries  on  the  spot),  he  will  see  what  may  well  be 
described  as  the  most  desolate  region  of  Surrey,  In  all 
my  wanderings,  never  have  I  seen  in  a  civilised  land 
such  a  deserted  tract  as  this.  You  go  for  miles  through 
a  totally  uninhabited  country,  nor  does  any  sign  of  the 
hand  of  man  appear  until  you  reach  the  Earl  of  Love- 
lace's estate,  far  beyond  the  Downs.  The  land  is  all 
overgrown  with  large  ferns  which  seem  to  strangle  the 
very  trees,  and  drag  them  to  the  ground.  The  oaks 
and  beeches  are  stunted  in  growth,  and  begin  to  push 
out  their  short  branches  directly  they  come  above  the 
soil.  The  thick  rank  weeds  and  coarse  ferns  encroach 
even  upon  the  narrow  roadway,  and  far  as  the  eye  can 
reach  nothing  can  be  seen  except  this  barren  and 
melancholy  expanse.  Not  even  game  is  preserved  here 
— the  land,  hundreds  of  acres  of  it,  is  simply  allowed  to 
run  wild,  unfenced  and  un  tilled.  There  are  noble  sites 
for  residences  in  the  district,  one  scarcely  inferior  to 
the  site  of  the  Deepdene,  and  ample  space  for  scores  of 
farms.     But  nothing  is  grown  upon  it — not  even  good 


2i8         Field  Paths  and  Green  Lanes,    ch.  xvi. 

trees.  A  man  who  once  drove  me  tbrongb  this  part 
said  that  he  had  never  seen  anybody  about  liere  at 
work,  and  that  in  certain  places,  roads  which  were 
formerly  used,  were  now  all  covered  with  grass  and 
weeds.  "  I  have  tried  some  of  them,"  he  said,  "  and 
after  a  few  hundred  yards  you  come  to  a  dead  stop." 
"  Do  you  see  much  game  here  ? "  I  asked.  "  None  at 
all.  I  don't  know  how  it  is,  but  the  birds  do  not  seem 
to  come  here — not  but  what  if  they  did  the  poachers 
w^ould  not  soon  have  them,  for  you  see  there  is  nobody 
to  prevent  them." 

All  this  land  is,  of  course,  beyond  the  limits  of  the 
village  of  Albury,  Avhich  is  one  of  the  most  pleasant 
places  in  Surrey.  The  church  or  "  cathedral "  before 
referred  to  stands  very  near  Albury  Park.  It  is  called 
the  "  Holy  Catholic  Apostolic  Church,"  and  was  origin- 
ally built  for  the  followers  of  Irving,  of  whom  the  late 
Mr.  Drummond,  the  banker,  was  among  the  foremost. 
His  daughter,  the  present  Duchess  of  Northumberland, 
still  takes  the  deepest  interest  in  the  welfare  of  the 
sect,  but  the  worshippers  in  the  church  deny  with 
some  warmth  that  they  are  "  Irvingites,"  or  that  Mr. 
Irvine:  was  the  founder  of  their  church. 

"  It  is  a  great  mistake  to  call  us  Irvingites,"  said  a 
member  of  the  church  to  me.  "  But  suppose  anyone 
wnshes  to  mention  your  church,  what  is  it  to  be  called  ? " 
"  The  Catholic  Apostolic  Church,"  he  answered.  "  But 
I  think  I  have  heard  of  other  clmrclies  which  claim 
that  title  ?  "  "  No  matter — we  are  the  true  Apostolic 
Church,  believing  in  a  fourfold  ministry,  as  the  Apostles 


cH.  XVI.   Norbiiry  Park,  Albicry,  Dcepdene.      219 


did."  "I  see — but  what  particular  doctrines  do  you 
hold?"  "We  follow  strictly  the  Catholic  Apostolic 
precepts  and  the  fourfold  ministry."  Thus,  continually 
travelling  in  the  same  circle,  I  left  off  my  questionings, 
not  much  wiser  than  when  I  began  them. 

The  services  in  the  Cathedral  at  Albury  are  at  times 
conducted  with  much  pomp,  and  the  "  priests  "  are  clad 
in  gorgeous  vestments.  Near  the  altar  there  are  stalls 
for  the  priests,  of  whom  about  twelve  have  their  head- 
quarters at  Albury.  This  is  the  central  church,  and 
from  it  missionaries  or  ministers  are  drawn  for  service 
elsewhere.  At  the  door  of  the  church  there  is  a  basin 
containing  holy  water,  incense  is  constantly  burnt, 
and  a  lamp  is  always  kept  alight  before  the  altar.  The 
sacrament  is  also  kept  upon  the  altar  from  Sunday  to 
Sunday,  and  is  thus  ready,  as  was  explained  to  me,  "  for 
the  use  of  the  sick,  day  and  night."  There  are  various 
texts  of  scripture  on  the  walls,  and  a  special  liturgy  is 
used. 

The  gardens  of  Albury  Park  are  close  to  the  church, 
and  although  their  natural  situation  is  most  beautiful, 
yet  they  are  not  properly  cared  for,  and  are  too  thickly 
covered  with  trees  to  thrive  well.  Evelyn  took  a  great 
interest  in  this  estate,  and  was  anxious  to  purchase  it, 
and  with  that  end  in  view  wrote  to  Sir  Edward  Thur- 
land,  a  Baron  of  the  Exchequer,  soliciting  his  interest 
in  the  matter.  He  dwells  upon  the  "  favour  which  (I 
am  assured)  you  may  do  y''  servant  in  promoting  his 
singular  inclynations  for  Albury,  in  case  (as  I  am  con- 
fident it  will)   that  seate  be  exposed  for  sale."     He 


2  20         Field  Paths  and  Green  Lanes,     cit.  xvi. 

vows  that  this  service  will  bind  him  to  the  Baron  for 
ever,  and  adds,  "  I  suppose  the  place  will  invite  many 
candidates,  but  my  money  is  good,  and  it  will  be  the 
sole  and  greatest  obligation  that  it  shall  ever  be  in  y"" 
power  to  doe  for"  *  the  thrifty  and  long-headed  squire, 
who  afterwards  so  successfully  carried  out  the  astute 
line  of  policy  which  was  ascribed  to  the  "Vicar  of  Bray." 
The  great  curiosity  of  the  gardens  at  Albury  is  the  yew 
hedge  before  referred  to,  now  more  flourishing  than 
ever.  It  is  a  quarter  of  a  mile  in  length,  and  is  largely 
formed  by  yew  trees,  which  grow  at  regular  distances, 
and  form  a  sort  of  canopy  with  their  branches  on  each 
side  of  the  green  sward  beneath.  The  lower  branches 
are  cut  and  trimmed  every  few  years  in  order  to  pre- 
serve uniformity.  Under  the  trees  there  grows  the 
hedge  proper — it  is,  in  fact,  a  thick  hedge  with  an  over- 
hanging roof  of  yew  trees,  carefully  kept  in  shape.  It 
is  probably  the  finest  and  most  remarkable  hedge  to  be 
seen  in  England,  and  running  at  right  angles  with  it 
there  is  a  holly  hedge,  to  which  it  would  be  hard  to  find 
an  equal.  The  shelter  given  by  the  upper  branches  .of 
the  yew  trees  is  now  so  thick  that  the  visitor  will 
scarcely  need  any  other  protection  from  sun  or  rain. 
This  long  .dark  line  gives  the  entire  garden  a  somewhat 
heavy  and  sombre  appearance.  The  mistletoe  seems  to 
flourish  here,  and  may  be  seen  in  great  branches  on  the 
false  acacia  and  apple  trees.  The  woods  at  the  back 
are  bold  and  striking,  but  the  house  is  totally  without 
interest. 

*  Memoirs  and  Correspondence  of  John  Evelyn  (ed.  1819),  vol.  ii.p.  96. 


cH.  XVI.   Norbtiry  Park,  Albiiry]  Deepdene.  ^  221 

The  best  way  to  visit  all  this  part  is  to  go  to  the 
Chilworth  station,  and  take  the  road  (which  cannot  be 
missed)  to  Albury.  Having  seen  the  "  Cathedral,"  a 
path  through  a  meadow  at  the  back  will  lead  to  the 
greenhouse  and  the  gardener's  cottage,  where  application 
may  be  made  for  permission  to  see  the  grounds.  The 
gardener  will  let  the  visitor  out  at  the  other  end,  and  a 
meadow  must  then  be  crossed  into  a  lane.  Turn  to  the 
right,  and  pass  over  the  little  wooden  bridge  which 
spans  the  Tillingbourne.  Follow  this  stream  by  a 
pretty  path  to  the  left,  until  it  ends  in  the  interesting 
village  of  Shere,  which  with  its  old  cottages  and  barns 
and  church  will  afford  many  a  subject  for  the  sketcher 
and  artist.  There  are  few  more  picturesque  villages  to 
be  found  in  this  part  of  England  than  Shere.  From 
thence  the  road  is  an  easy  one  to  the  Gomshall  station, 
or  there  is  a  field-path  to  it  through  the  churchyard — 
the  entire  distance  between  the  two  stations  by  this 
route  being  five  miles. 

Among  all  the  fine  estates  which  are  to  be  found  in 
Surrey,  we  may  look  in  vain  for  one  which  can  surpass 
the  "  Deepdene,"  long  the  residence  of  "  Anastasius  " 
Hope,  and  still  in  the  possession  of  his  family.  It  is  a 
noble  domain,  more  than  twelve  miles  in  circumference, 
full  of  magnificent  trees  and  long  sweeps  of  forest 
glade,  deep  dells  covered  with  fox-glove  and  ferns,  and 
solitary  paths  so  clothed  with  thick  moss  that  the 
ground  is  as  soft  as  if  it  were  covered  with  a  velvet 
carpet.  Two  large  parks  have  been  added  to  this 
ancient  estate  since  it  fell  into  the  hands  of  the  Hope 


2  2  2         Field  Paths  and  Green  Lanes,    en.  xvr. 

family,  and  one  of  tliom — Betcliwortli — is  freely  thrown 
open  to  the  public  at  all  times,  while  the  house  itself, 
with  its  many  choice  collections,  is  liberally  shown  on 
Tuesdays  and  Fridays.  Few  houses  in  the  county  will 
better  reward  a  visit.  In  the  entrance-hall,  a  striking 
chamber,  are  several  famous  works  by  Thorwaldsen,  and 
some  fine  statues  which  liavo  come  to  us  from  the 
hands  of  Roman  artists.  In  the  gallery  above  there  are 
some  great  paintings  by  Rubens,  Domenichino,  and 
other  renowned  masters,  and  a  bust  of  a  "  cardinal " 
(unknown)  which  I,  for  my  part,  can  never  look  at  too 
often  or  too  long.  What  shrewdness,  penetration,  and 
intellectual  power  are  expressed  in  that  face  !  Who 
can  fail  to  be  charmed  with  the  large  dining-room,  so 
perfectly  proportioned,  or  with  the  splendid  examples 
of  Paul  Veronese,  Correggio,  and  Raffaelle  which  cover 
its  walls?  The  Etruscan  room,  with  its  valuable  collec- 
tion of  vases,  is  both  curious  and  interesting,  and  no 
one  who  has  seen  the  statue  of  Minerva  in  the  small 
Pompeian  room  beyond  will  ever  be  likely  to  forget 
that  wondrous  work.  It  was  found  in  1797  at  the 
mouth  of  the  Tiber,  and  so  instinct  is  the  figure  with 
fire  and  vigour  that  it  absolutely  seems  alive.  Where 
is  the  sculptor  of  modern  days  who  could  throw  all  this 
wealth  of  regal  beauty  into  a  block  of  marble  ?  Even 
Canova's  "  Venus  leaving  the  Bath  "  at  the  other  end 
of  the  room  looks  feeble  after  that  divine  Minerva. 
Then  there  is  the  library,  which  no  scholar  can  regard 
without  admiration  and  envy.  The  calm  which  reigns 
within  this  stately  room,  the   shelves   lined  with  the 


CH.  XVI.   Nor  bury  Park,  Albtcry,  Dccpdene.     223 

noblest  legacies  of  the  "  mighty  dead,"  the  views  with- 
out over  the  sweet  fields  and  rolling  hills  of  Surrey,  must 
ever  exercise  a  potent  fascination  over  those  who  are 
well  content  to  pass  their  lives  chiefly  amid  the  un- 
wearying companionship  of  books.  A  work  planned  by 
an  imaginative  man  'patidce  suh  tegmine  fagi,  or 
wandering  amid  the  sequestered  glades  of  the  Deep- 
dene,  and  chiefly  written  in  this  delightful  library, 
could  scarcely  fail  to  find  an  enduring  place  in  litera- 
ture— and  such  was  the  history  of  Coningsby. 

Above  the  deep  dell,  or  "  Dene,"  which  is  the  gem  of 
these  grounds,  there  is  a  splendid  avenue  of  beeches, 
and  to  the  southward  a  vast  landscape  unfolds  itself  far 
into  the  weald  of  Sussex.  The  valley  towards  Reigate 
is  disclosed  at  the  end  of  the  avenue,  scarred  by  deep 
cuttings  in  the  chalk  hills  and  disfigured  by  lime- 
works.  In  the  hollows  below  are  "unvvedgeable 
and  gnarled  "  oaks,  lofty  beeches,  and  luxuriant  holly 
trees.  In  the  month  of  June  all  the  grounds  are  clad 
in  gorgeous  hues,  for  then  the  rhododendrons  are  in 
bloom,  and  their  brilliant  colours  stand  out  in  dazzling 
relief  against  the  dark  firs  which  fill  the  background. 
In  the  spring,  the  hawthorn  and  the  lilac  perfume 
the  air  ;  in  the  winter  the  walks  are  gay  with  the 
red  berry  of  the  holly.  Noble  oriental  planes,  and 
two  venerable  cedars,  still  remain  in  Chart  Park,  now 
but  an  exquisite  fringe  on  the  skirt  of  the  Deepdene, 
but  once  the  site  of  an  ancient  house.  This  solitary 
park,  with  dim  associations  of  the  past  still  clinging  to 
it,  and  the  ruins  at  Betchworth  with  their  monumental 


224         Field  Paths  and  Gree7i  Lanes,     en.  xvi. 

yews,  impart  a  poetic  interest  to  the  more  radiant 
beauties  wliieh  adorn  the  Deepdene— the  enamelled 
lawn,  the  tulip-tree  near  the  garden  terrace,  the  dark 
and  spreading  cedar  beyond,  the  flowers  which  sparkle 
like  stars  in  the  leafy  paths,  and  the  blue  ridge  of  hills 
which  encircles  the  magic  scene. 


CHAPTER    XVJI. 

REIGATE,    GATTON    PARK,   AND   THE    PILGRIM'S    WAY. 

Some  Points  of  Difference  between  Reigate  and  Dorking. — Drainage 
and  Comfort. — Reigate  Park. — Gatton  and  the  "Marble  Hall." 
— The  Two  Members  of  Parliament. — Merstham. — On  the  Track 
of  the  Canterbury  Pilgrims. — A  Scramble  among  the  Yew  Trees. 
— Walton  Heath. — The  Yews  near  Box  Hill. 

Of  all  the  towns  in  this  part  of  Surrey,  Reigate  is 
the  most  popular,  and  not  without  very  good  reasons. 
The  shops  are  excellent,  the  neighbourhood  is  full  of 
good  houses,  and  the  scenery  for  miles  around  is  over- 
flowing with  attractions.  The  speculative  builder  has 
not  been  allowed  to  sprinkle  too  many  of  his  "shoddy  " 
and  detestable  villas  over  this  pleasant  retreat,  although 
examples  of  his  style  are  not  entirely  wanting.  The 
neighbourhood  has  been  chosen  as  a  place  of  residence 
by  a  larger  proportion  of  active  professional  men  and 
merchants  than  any  other  town  in  the  valley.  At 
Dorking,  the  tone  of  "  society  "  must  be  rather  weari- 
some, for  the  landowners  will  not  recognise  the  general 
residents,  unless,  indeed,  it  be  in  that  condescending 
manner  which  does  not  add  much  to  the  geniality  of 
social  intercourse.    The  town  is  therefore,  at  all  seasons, 

one  of  the  dullest  in  England  — and  for  young  people  it 
11 


2  26         Field  Paths  and  Green  Lanes,   ch.  xvn. 

must  be  intolerable,  for  there  is  scarcely  anybody  of  their 
own  age  to  associate  with  them,  there  are  no  amusements, 
no  one  gives  any  parties,  there  are  the  usual  narrow  in- 
fluences at  work  which  always  grow  up  in  small  gossipy 
places,  and  altogether  life  is  stagnant  there.  Everything 
is  different  at  Reigate.  The  city  men  and  the  profes- 
sional men  infuse  some  of  their  own  energy  and  vigour 
into  the  social  atmosphere  of  the  town,  and  as  young 
folks  abound,  there  are  plenty  of  parties  for  croquet  or 
lawn  tennis  in  the  summer,  and  for  music  and  dancing 
in  the  winter.  Another  fact  must  be  mentioned  which 
is  not  without  its  importance — Reigate  is  better  drained 
than  Dorking.  In  the  latter  town,  there  is  no  drainage  at 
all,  the  only  attempt  to  get  rid  of  the  sewage  consisting 
in  a  partial  diversion  of  it  into  the  Mole  at  the  east  end. 
What  happens  afterwards  may  ea.sily  be  imagined. 

No  wonder,  therefore,  that  Eeigate  has  left  Dorking 
all  behind — has,  indeed,  more  than  doubled  its  popula- 
tion within  a  very  few  years.  It  has  an  old-fashioned 
and  interesting  appearance,  its  castle  vaults  are  curious, 
and  its  church  is  worth  going  to  see.  But  it  is  hard 
for  the  visitor  to  go  grubbing  about  underground,  or 
poking  among  old  monuments,  with  such  attractions 
outside  to  call  him  away.  Reigate  Park  offers  far 
greater  temptations  to  the  lover  of  the  beautiful  than 
all  the  castle  vaults.  It  can  boast  of  some  lovelf^  dells, 
where  the  children  })lay  at  hide-and-seek  among  the 
ferns,  or  Avaiider  up  the  hill  sides  knee-deep  m  blue- 
bells. Such  another  place  for  wild-flowers  is  .scarce!}' 
to  be  found  even  in  the  county  of  Surrey.     All  the 


cii.  XVII.  Reigate,  GattonPa7^k,Pilg7'imsWay.  227 

outskirts  of  the  town  are  intensely  "  countrified  "  and 
rural  in  their  character — it  is  really  the  country,  not 
the  town.  It  was  after  attending  the  sale  of  a  farm- 
house hereabouts,  that  Cobbett  burst  into  one  of  the 
most  amusinof  of  his  denunciations  acifainst  modern 
"  progress."  "  When  the  old  farm-houses,"  he  says,  "  are 
down,  and  down  they  must  come  in  time,  what  a 
miserable  thing  the  country  will  be  !  Those  that  are 
now  erected  are  mere  painted  shells,  with  a  mistress 
within,  who  is  stuck  up  in  a  place  she  Calls  the  'parlour, 
with,  if  she  have  children,  the  '  young  ladies  and  gentle- 
men '  about  her :  Some  showy  chairs  and  a  sofa  (a  sofa 
by  all  means)  ;  half-a-dozen  prints  in  gilt  frames  hang- 
ing up ;  some  swinging  book-shelves  with  novels  and 
tracts  upon  them  ;  a  dinner  brought  in  by  a  girl  that  is 
perhaps  better  educated  than  she  ;  two  or  three  knick- 
knacks  to  eat  instead  of  a  piece  of  bacon  and  a  pudding  ; 
the  house  too  neat  for  a  dirty-shoed  carter  to  come 
into  ;  and  everything  proclaiming  to  every  sensible 
beholder  that  there  is  here  a  constant  anxiety  to  make 
a  show  not  warranted  by  the  reality.  The  children 
(which  is  the  worst  part  of  it)  are  all  too  clever  to 
work  :  they  are  all  to  be  gentlefolks.  Go  to  plough  ! 
Good  God  !  What,  '  young  gentlemen '  go  to  plough  ! 
They  become  clerics  or  some  skimmy-dish  thing  or  other. 
They  flee  from  the  dirty  work  as  cunning  horses  do 
from  the  bridle."  This  "  Rural  Ride  "  was  written,  or 
at  any  rate  is  dated,  at  Reigate,  and  the  old  farm- 
houses whose  decline  Cobbett  lamented  are  not  yet 
entirely  swept  away  from  the  district. 


2  28         Field  Paths  and  Gi'ccit  Lafies.   en.  xvn. 

The  walk  to  Gatton  Park,  and  onwards  to  Merstham, 
is  one  of  the  best  in  all  this  part  of  Surrey.  Having 
reached  the  road  outside  the  railroad  station,  you  turn 
to  the  right,  and  go  on  up-hill  till  you  come  to  the  sus- 
pension bridge.  From  that  bridge  a  bird's-eye-view  of 
the  town  and  surrounding  country  may  be  obtained, 
and  a  most  fascinating  view  it  is.  In  many  respects  it 
is  preferable  to  the  scene  which  is  presented  from  the 
point  of  Box  Hill  just  above  Dorking.  Beyond  the 
bridge  there  is  a  road,  with  a  finger-post  at  the  corner, 
going  off  to  the  right.  Follow  that — a  shady  road,  with 
many  fine  beeches  towering  up  on  the  right  hand — 
and  you  will  shortly  come  to  a  lodge  gate,  and  although 
there  is  a  board  up  warning  "  trespassers  "  to  "  beware," 
yet  the  road  is  freely  open  to  all  inoffensive  strangers, 
and  you  may  wander  about  the  charming  park  beyond 
without  fear.  This  is  the  place  of  which  Cobbett  wrote  : 
"  Before  you  descend  the  hill  to  go  into  Reigate,  you 
pass  Gatton,  which  is  a  very  rascally  spat  of  earth  " — 
but  it  can  no  longer  boast  of  its  two  members  of 
Parliament,  which  made  it  "  rascally." 

Gatton  House  is  generally  called  a  "  stately  struc- 
ture," but  an  impartial  observer  would  probably  describe 
it  as  a  rather  ugly  building  with  a  great  fungus  grow- 
ing out  of  the  middle.  The  architect  seems  to  have 
built  the  house  without  providing  the  usual  means  for 
getting  into  it,  since  the  only  entrance  is  by  that  side 
door  which  is  commonly  set  apart  for  tradespeople  and 
servants.  The  first  impression  that  strikes  one  on 
seeing  the  place  is,  "  Something   or   other   has   gone 


en.  XVII.  Reigate,  Gat  ton  Park,  Pilgri7n's  Way.  229 

wrong  with  this  strange  looking  house — perhaps  some- 
body begun  it  and  never  lived  to  finish  it."  And,  in 
truth,  that  is  very  nearly  the  state  of  the  case.  The 
fifth  Lord  Monson  determined  to  produce  on  this  spot 
an  exact  copy  of  the  Corsini  chapel  at  Rome,  and  he 
went  so  far  as  to  spend  £10,000  on  marbles  for  the 
pavement  alone.  But  like  many  another  man,  Lord 
Monson  be^an  to  build  a  house  in  which  he  was  not 
destined  to  live,  and  of  course  no  one  else  cared  to 
carry  on  his  fanciful  and  exti^avagant  design.  The  hall 
(to  which  strangers  are  readily  admitted)  was  begun  on 
a  grand  scale,  and  finished  on  a  paltry  one.  The  walls 
were  intended  to  be  magnificent,  but  before  they  had 
got  up  very  far,  a  common  roof  was  prematurely  clapped 
down  upon  them,  and  now  this  ambitious  structure  has 
a  pinched  up  and  squat  appearance.  The  frescoes  can- 
not be  said  to  improve  matters  very  much.  The  hall, 
flattery  apart,  can  only  be  regarded  as  a  rich  man's 
freak — the  sort  of  thing  which  country  people  generally 
christen  a  "  folly."  The  other  rooms  of  the  house 
dispel  the  gloomy  impression  which  this  unfinished  hall 
produces.  The  view  fnmi  the  drawing-room  windows 
is  delicious,  and  the  pictures  on  the  walls,  fine  in  them- 
selves, are  displayed  to  great  advantage. 

In  front  of  the  house  is  a  mausoleum  in  which  Lord 
Monson  was  buried,  and  close  by,  on  the  mound  shaded 
by  trees,  is  the  place  where  that  interesting  and  im- 
portant ceremony  used  to  be  performed  of  "electing" 
two  members  of  Parliament  for  Gatton.  The  con- 
stituency consisted  for  many  years  of  one  person — the 


230         Field  Paths  and  Great  Lanes,    en.  xvn. 

lord  of  the  manor  for  the  time  being.  It  cannot  be 
denied  that  this  man  at  least  was  very  fully  represented 
in  the  councils  of  his  country.  Sometimes  he  managed 
for  appearance  sake  to  bring  up  a  score  or  so  of 
"  dummies "  to  the  polls,  but  they  voted  as  their 
master  or  employer,  the  lord  of  the  manor,  told  them. 
It  was  this  privilege  which  always  made  the  property 
fetch  a  high  price  in  the  market — you  bought  an 
estate  with  two  seats  in  the  House  of  Commons  tacked 
on  to  it,  A  very  much  disgusted  man  Lord  Monson 
must  have  been  when,  after  paying  X'l  00,000  for  the 
property,  the  fir.st  Reform  Bill  cut  off  the  Members  of 
Parliament,  only  two  years  afterwards.  Reigate  also 
returned  two  metnbers  once  upon  a  time,  and  the 
Reform  Bill  of  18.32  left  it  with  one,  and  then  in  18G7 
it  was  disfranchised  altogetlier  for  "  bribery  and  treat- 
ing"— a  subject  which  it  does  not  do  to  bring  up  too 
suddenly  in  social  circles  at  Reigate. 

From  this  house  there  is  a  pleasant  walk  to  Mers- 
tham  station — through  the  park,  to  the  right  after 
leaving  the  house,  then  across  fields — the  distance  being 
about  a  mile  and  a  half.  There  is  not  much  to  see  at 
Merstham,  but  it  is  a  pleasant  little  village,  with  some 
old  timbered  cottages  here  and  there,  and  a  black- 
smith's foi-ge  which  recalls  some  of  Dickens's  sketches. 
The  church  might  easily  be  passed  by  unseen,  for  it  is 
a  little  out  of  the  way  of  the  village,  and  in  summer  is 
sheltered  by  the  foliage  of  the  trees. 

Most  people  know  that  Reigate  was  a  very  busy 
place  in  the  days  when  thousands  of  our  countrymen 


CH.  XVII.  Reigate,  Gatton  Pm'k,  Pilgrim s  Way.  231 

made  that  pilgrimage  to  Canterbury  which  Chaucer 
would  have  rendered  immortal,  even  if  history  had  been 
careless  of  it.  It  was  here  that  the  pilgrims  generally 
found  a  pleasant  halting  stage,  and  a  chapel  was  built 
for  them  which  stood  until  the  beginning  of  last  cen- 
tury. The  present  Town  Hall  and  market  stand  upon 
its  site.  Above  Keigate  to  the  north,  it  is  easy  to  see  a 
line  of  yew  trees  going  along  the  slope  of  the  hill, 
sometimes  far  apart,  sometimes  close  together.  The 
traveller  on  the  Reading  branch  of  the  South  Eastern 
railroad  may  frequently  trace  this  line  of  yews  between 
Reigate  and  Guildford,  if  he  looks  from  the  windows  on 
the  right-hand  side.  Two  miles  from  Reigate  there  is 
a  long  procession  of  yews  going  up  the  hill  from  Buck- 
land,  and  in  some  places  thick  clumps  of  them  may  be 
made  out  from  the  valley  below.  All  these  are  relics 
of  the  Pilgrim's  Way.  It  is  by  no  means  a  simple 
matter  to  get  upon  the  track  itself,  or  to  follow  it  for 
any  distance.  There  is  no  regular  road.  Sometimes 
the  path  is  effaced  by  modern  cultivation  of  the  land — 
sometimes  it  is  all  overgrown  with  trees,  shrubs,  and 
bushes.  To  get  at  any  part  of  it  westward  of  Reigate 
you  must  scramble  over  hedges  and  fences,  and  run  the 
risk  of  tumbling  down  ugly  holes,  or  of  being  ordered 
off  some  field  for  trespassing — the  last  inconvenience 
being  much  the  worst  of  the  three.  Where  was  the 
road  which  the  pilgrims  who  went  to  Canterbury  from 
Southampton  followed  for  so  many  years,  and  in  such 
great  numbers  ?  In  endeavouring  to  find  it,  one  is 
often   obliged   to   fall   back    upon   local   tradition   for 


232         Field  Paths  and  Green  Lanes,   ch,  xvn. 

guidance,  but  in  sucli  matters  local  tradition  is  not  to 
be  despised.  Tliere  is  nothing  which  lingers  so  long  in 
popular  recollection  as  an  old  road  or  an  old  name. 
In  Surrey,  instances  of  men  and  women  living  to  the 
age  of  ninety  are  far  indeed  from  being  uncommon,  and 
it  takes  very  few  such  lives  to  carry  us  back  to  the  days 
when  the  long  trains  of  pilgrims  were  plodding  on  their 
way  to  the  slirine  of  A  Becket.  Local  tradition,  then, 
must  be  allowed  some  weight,  and  in  Surrey  it 
undoubtedly  asserts  that  the  old  road  was  marked  by  a 
line  of  yew  trees,  and  in  many  places  that  line  is  still 
perfectly  well  known. 

Mr.  Albert  Way,  in  a  note  to  Dean  Stanley's  most 
interesting  "  Memorials  of  Canterbury,"  points  out  that 
from  Southampton  the  foreign  visitors  "would  probably 
take  the  most  secure  and  direct  line  of  communication 
towards  Farnham,  crossing  the  Itchen  at  Stoneham, 
and  thence  in  the  direction  of  Bishoj)'s  Waltham, 
Alton,  and  Froyle."  At  Alton  it  has  been  traced,  from 
Farnham  it  probably  ran  along  the  Hog's  Back,  and 
beyond  Guildford  it  passed  by  St.  Martha's  chapel  and 
over  the  "green  road"  still  existing,  and  still  marked, 
as  at  Newland's  corner,  by  many  yew  trees.  "  The 
line,"  says  Mr.  Way,  "  for  the  most  part,  it  would  seem, 
took  its  course  about  mid-way  down  the  hill-side,  and 
on  the  northern  verge  of  the  older  cultivation  of  these 

chalk    downs Under  the  picturesque  height  of 

Box  Hill  several  yews  of  large  size  remain  in  ploughed 
land,  relics,  no  doubt,  of  this  ancient  way,  and  a  row 
more  or  less  continuous  marks  its  progress  as  it  leads 


CH.  xvn.  Reigate,  Gatton Park, Pilgrim^ sWay.  233 

towards  Reigate,  passing  to  the  north  of  Brockham  and 
Betch worth."  Near  Dorking,  in  Westhumble  Lane, 
there  are  ruins,  as  I  have  already  mentioned,  which  are 
still  known  as  the  "  Pilgrim's  Chapel."  And  local 
names,  here  and  elsewhere,  plainly  point  to  the  track 
which  was  unquestionably  followed  by  the  pilgrims,  and 
which  is  still  far  from  being  obliterated,  although  the 
explorer  must  be  once  more  fairly  cautioned  that 
nowhere  can  it  be  followed  without  considerable  in- 
convenience. 

Between  Reigate  and  Dorking  the  yews  which  mark 
the  road  are  more  regular  in  their  course  than  between 
Dorking  and  Guildford,  but  the  road  itself  is  almost 
closed  or  overgrown  with  trees  and  bramble.  A  chalk 
path  leads  up  the  hill  north  of  Reigate,  and  if  the 
visitor  finds  nothing  else  to  attract  him,  he  will  at 
least  admire  the  noble  view  from  the  summit  of  the 
hill,  extending  to  the  weald  of  Kent  on  one  side,  and  to 
the  southdowns  on  the  other.  If  you  go  to  the  top  of 
this  hill,  you  will  come  to  a  patch  of  wood,  ankle-deep 
in  mud  in  wet  weather,  and  leading  out  upon  a  common. 
By  the  hedge  there  is  no  path,  but  it  is  necessary  to 
keep  close  beside  it,  and  presentl}'-  a  gate  is  reached 
which  opens  into  a  path  leading  downwards  to  Buck- 
land,  where  a  post  warns  all  persons  against  "  injuring 
the  yew  trees."  The  line  of  yews  runs  all  the  way 
down  the  hill,  and  goes  on  westward,  but  without  any 
visible  track  to  guide  the  explorer.  Keep  on,  however, 
till  the  hill  takes  a  dip,  and  then  go  up  a  field  to  the 
right,  where  the  yews  become  very  thick — almost  as 


234         Field  Paths  and  Green  Lanes,   ch.  xvn. 


deep  a  wood  as  the  grove  at  Norbuiy  Park,  tlie  trees 
growing,  as  it  were,  into  each  other,  while  the  ground 
is  all  dark  and  bare  beneath  them.  They  form  an 
impassable  barrier  at  this  point,  and  it  is  necessary  to 
keep  still  higher  vip  tlic  hill  until  another  wood  is 
reached,  through  which  there  is  a  very  slight  track 
made  by  the  country  people.  If  this  is  followed,  it  will 
be  found  to  lead  out  to  Walton  Heath,  with  a  church 
and  windmill  and  a  few  cottages  scattered  on  its  outer 
edsre.  The  common  must  be  avoided,  or  it  would  lead 
one  too  far  astray,  but  some  rough  scrambling  has  to 
be  done  before  the  yews  come  in  sight  again.  There 
they  are,  however,  about  half-way  up  the  hill,  in  a 
perfectly  straight  line,  with  a  steep  pitch  below  and 
cultivated  fields  above.  A  small  valley  opens  here, 
which  can  only  be  crossed  either  by  making  your  way 
down  to  the  bottom,  or  by  taking  it  above.  In  the 
latter  case,  you  will  come  out  upon  a  green  lane,  which 
leads  to  pi'ivate  grounds,  belonging  to  the  house  at  the 
head  of  the  gorge,  and  which  is  called  "  Pibblecorabe." 
Here  one  is  compelled  to  skirt  Walton  Heath  once  more, 
and  to  join  the  main  roadway  until  some  woods  on  the 
left  (the  late  Sir  B.  Brodie's)  are  reached.  A  gateway 
opens  into  them,  and  the  track  guides  you  to  the  brow  of 
the  hill  once  more,  where  a  backward  view  of  the  yew 
trees  may  be  seen,  and  the  dip  of  the  hills  which  inter- 
rupts them.  There  is  a  path  down  to  Betchworth,  but 
the  hill-side  must  be  followed,  through  Sir  B.  Brodie's 
woods,  and  out  upon  his  carriage  drive.  Immediately 
below   that   a  row   of  yew  trees,  still   running   in   a 


CH.  xvir.  Reigate,  Gatton  Park^Pilgi'ims  Way.  235 

straight  line,  may  be  seen,  and  beyond  that  again  they 
are  occasionally  found  until  you  reach  Box  Hill,  and 
from  thence  they  continue  across  the  valley,  below  Mr. 
Cubitt's  grounds,  and  so  to  the  hills  again  and  on  to 
Guildford.  By  the  circuitous  road  I  have  endeavoured 
to  indicate,  it  is  fully  twelve  miles  to  Dorking,  but  they 
are  twelve  miles  of  lovely  country.  It  is  necessary  to 
be  vigilant  in  many  places,  for  great  excavations  have 
been  made  for  lime-works,  and  the  grass  grows  green 
to  the  very  edge,  and  sometimes  there  is  little  to  denote 
the  vicinity  of  a  huge  declivity  down  which  it  will  not 
be  advisable  for  the  traveller  to  pursue  liis  researches, 
for  he  would  be  compelled  to  do  so  head-foremost. 
There  are  few  walks  in  Surrey,  however,  which  present 
greater  attractions  than  this,  either  for  the  geologist  or 
the  naturalist  or  the  simple  lover  of  nature. 


CHAPTER    XVIII. 

REDIIILL    TO    CROWHUKST. 

A  Tangle  of  P.ailroads. — Nutfield  and  its  old  Posting  Inn. — An  Awful 
Warning  to  Bachelors. — Bletchingley. — A  Queer  Storj'  of  a 
Brass. — The  "Vile  Rotten  Borough." — Godstone  and  its  Green. 
— Deep  in  the  Clay. — The  Yew  Tree  of  Surrey. — The  "  Moated 
Grange." — The  Road  to  Godstone  Station. 

Redhill,  like  most  other  "junctions/'  is  a  scattered, 
bewildering,  unsatisfactory  place.  It  lies  sprawling 
vaguely  over  a  large  extent  of  ground,  and  after  you 
have  walked  round  and  about  it  for  an  hour  or  so, 
you  feel  as  if  you  were  getting  tied  up  in  a  hopeless 
knot  with  railroad  lines.  The  town  has  no  plan — the 
streets  have  grown  up  by  accident,  and  all  kinds  of 
houses  have  been  dropped  down  upon  them  at  random. 
There  is  a  good  common  on  the  outskirts,  but  even  this 
is  disfigured  by  large  sand  pits,  which  it  is  advisable  to 
approach  with  caution.  While  standing  up  above  one 
of  them,  I  saw  a  large  mass  dislodge  itself  and  come 
crashing  to  the  ground.  "  That's  nothing,"  said  a  man 
who  noticed  my  astonishment,  "  I  was  up  here  the 
other  day  when  eight  or  ten  tons  fell.  Plenty  of  men 
have  been  killed  down  there."  There  are  some  good 
views  towards  Reigate  on  the  one  side  and  Horley  on 


CH.  xvni.  Rcdhill  to  Crowhurst.  237 

the  other,  from  a  clump  of  trees  in  the  middle  of  the 
common,  and  a  stirring  walk  may  be  taken  as  far  as 
Reigate.  There  are  also  some  attractive  specimens  of 
Surrey  lanes  in  the  neighbourhood,  deep  and  shady, 
covered  with  wild  flowers  in  spring,  and  in  the  summer 
almost  dark  with  the  foliage  of  the  trees  above. 

The  moment,  in  fact,  you  get  outside  the  town  of 
Redhill  you  come  upon  a  very  pretty  country.  It  is 
impossible  to  go  in  a  better  direction  than  towards 
Nutfield,  even  if  the  walk  now  to  be  described  should 
prove  too  long  for  the  chance  visitor.  It  is  altogether 
about  thirteen  miles,  making  allowance  for  going  a 
little  out  of  the  way  occasionally  ;  but  Nutfield  is  close 
to  Redhill.  Between  the  two  places  there  are  some 
unusually  comfortable  looking  residences,  commanding 
wide  and  beautiful  views  to  the  southward.  I  asked  a 
mason  who  was  at  work  on  a  wall  who  owned  most  of 
these  houses?  He  said,  London  men.  "What,  mer- 
chants?" "Sometimes,  and  stockbrokers  and  them  sort 
of  people.  They  buy  up  all  the  land  now-a-days.  The 
old  families  are  going  out,  you  see,  and  these  people 
from  the  city  are  taking  their  places  everywhere  you  go." 

"  You  speak  as  if  you  were  sorry  for  it,"  I  said. 

"  And  I  am — the  gentleman  makes  a  better  master 
than  the  shopkeeper.  I've  had  to  work  for  them  both, 
and  I  know." 

"  Then  you  are  not  one  of  the  people  Avho  complain 
of  the  bloated  landowner  ?  " 

"  Not  I,  sir.  What  harm  do  they  do  anyone  ?  I 
think  everything's  pretty  well  as  it  is." 


238         Field  Paths  atid  Green  Lanes,  ch.  xvm. 

"  Did  you  ever  see  Reynolds's  Newspaper  ?  " 

"Sometimes  I  do,  down  there  at  the  pidjlic  (pointing 
towards  Redhill),  hut  I  don't  pin  my  faith  to  any  news- 
paper.    None  of  them  are  to  he  trusted." 

"  You  are  an  uncommonly  sensihlc  man,"  said  I. 
"  Now  can  you  tell  me  how  far  it  is  to  Nutfield  1 " 

"  Why  this  is  part  of  it,  and  there  is  the  rest  of  it 
just  below  you." 

There  sure  enough  it  was,  withiu  ten  minutes'  walk,  a 
small  forgotten-looking  place,  with  a  large  old-fashioned 
inn  standing  back  from  the  road,  a  good  porch  at  the 
door,  and  a  green  before  it.  "  Evidently  an  old  posting 
house,"  thought  I,  and  in  I  went,  for  such  antiquated 
inns  are  far  more  interesting  than  all  your  grand  new 
hotels,  managed  by  "limited  liability"  young  ladies  and 
waiters.  There  are  many  traces  of  its  former  prosperity 
still  clinging  to  thi«  decayed  old  inn  at  Nutfield^ — the 
remains  of  large  stables  without,  and  marks  of  good 
rooms  and  a  thriving  business  within.  I  sat  talking 
nearly  half  an  hour  with  the  landlord,  in  a  parlour  which 
must  at  one  time  have  been  an  imposing  apartment. 
I  noticed  two  cupboards  opening  into  the  wall  on  each 
side  of  the  fire-place.  "  They  have  been  made  there, 
sir,"  said  the  landlord,  "  in  my  time.  You  would  never 
guess  what  they  used  to  be.  They  were  large  and 
comfortable  corners  in  the  old  fireplace,  where  people 
used  to  sit  down  and  talk  and  smoke  on  winter's  nights. 
But  what  use  would  such  a  fire-place  be  now  ? " 

"  I  suppose,"  said  I,  "  that  you  have  very  little  custom 
here." 


cit.  XVIII.  RcdJiill  to  Crowhurst.  239 

"  Very  little  indeed,  sir,  and  if  it  were  not  for  the 
workmen  who  are  employed  about  here  in  getting 
fuller's  earth,  we  should  have  none  at  all.  That  is  the 
only  thing  that  keeps  everybody  at  Nutfield  from  going 
to  the  workhouse." 

A  very  respectable  and  quiet  sort  of  man  he  seemed, 
though  a  little  down-hearted  in  his  manner,  as  a  man 
has  reason  to  be  when  he  lives  in  such  a  little  place  as 
Nutfield,  on  fuller's  earth.  He  pointed  out  to  me 
the  "  clerk's "  house,  where  he  said  I  could  get  the 
keys  of  the  church.  The  clerk  turned  out  to  be  a 
woman  with  about  half  a  dozen  children  hanging  round 
her  feet,  and  another  one  in  lier  arms — all  in  one  small 
room,  which,  however,  was  clean  and  comfortable.  She 
handed  me  the  keys,  and  I  walked  down  to  the  church, 
and  with  some  little  difficulty  opened  the  door.  Before 
going  in  I  saw  the  inscription  on  the  south  wall  which 
is  mentioned  in  Murray's  Guide  : 

"  He  Liv'd  alone,  He  Lyes  alone, 
To  Dust  He's  gone,  both  Flesh  and  Bone." 

Would  he  have  "  gone  "  to  anything  else  if  he  had 
not  lived  alone  ?  If  poor  Thomas  Steer,  over  whom 
the  women-folks  have  set  up  this  kind  of  war-whoop, 
had  flown  to  the  protecting  arms  of  one  of  the  ladies 
of  Nutfield,  he  would  ha^e  escaped  the  fate  of  being 
held  up  after  death  as  an  "awful  warning" — although 
he  might  not  have  had  so  easy  a  time  of  it  while  alive. 
Inside  the  church  there  are  two  or  three  old  grave- 
stones and  a  brass,  but  the  inscription  which  one  is  most 


240         Field  Paths  and  Green  Lanes,  ch.  xvih. 

surprised  to  find  in  such  an  out-of-the-way  place  is 
to  the  memory  of  an  American — Augustus  Longstreet 
Branhain,  who  "  lived  two  years  in  this  parish,"  Below 
the  church  there  is  the  Rectory,  a  charming  house, 
standing  in  the  midst  of  pretty  lawn  and  gardens,  and 
overlooking  a  fertile  and  varied  country. 

After  passing  through  Nutfield,  you  come  plump 
upon  a  windmill,  standing  close  by  the  roadside.  It  is 
certain  that  Don  Quixote  never  could  have  passed  that 
without  a  desperate  encounter.  I  was  almost  inclined 
to  break  a  lance  with  it  myself.  A  few  yards  beyond, 
a  beautiful  view  opens  to  the  right,  and  at  this  point 
the  visitor  is  as  nearly  as  possible  in  a  line  with 
Rottingdean,  near  Brighton.  A  wade  expanse  of  lovely 
country,  well-wooded  and  yet  well-cultivated,  spreads 
itself  to  the  very  foot  of  the  South  Downs,  and  just  on 
the  other  side  of  yonder  hill  is  the  once  pleasant  and 
cheerful  "  Doctor  Brighton,"  now  a  huge,  over-grown, 
crowded,  noisy  city.  Doctor  Brighton  has  too  many 
patients  in  these  days  for  a  quiet  man.  Less  than  a  mile 
further  along  the  road  brings  us  to  Bletchingley,  the 
population  of  which  seems  at  first  sight  to  be  made  up  of 
butchers  and  beagle  dogs.  While  I  am  waiting  for  the 
old  clerk  to  find  the  keys  of  the  church,  I  enquire  into 
this  phenomenon,  and  it  turns  out  that  the  butcher 
breeds  beagle  dogs,  and  gets  as  much  as  £5  or 
£10  a-piece  for  them.  I  went  down  to  his  shop, 
and  there  found  an  exceedingly  cheery  and  comely 
dame,  who  proved  to  be  the  butcher's  wife.  Decidedly 
Bletchingley  is  a  more  interesting  place  than  Nutfield. 


CH.  XVIII.  Redhill  to  Crowkurst.  241 

I  made  particular  enquiries  from  the  "  butcheress " 
about  beagle  dogs,  and  was  receiving  much  information 
in  a  most  agreeable  manner,  when  the  clerk,  a  volatile 
young  gentleman  of  eighty-five  summers,  hove  in 
sight  with  the  keys,  and  we  went  into  the  church. 
Bletchingley  has  but  one  church  now,  although  formerly 
it  could  boast  of  seven  ;  and  it  used  to  return  two 
members  to  Parliament.  "  A  little  way  to  the  right 
(of  Godstone),  cries  out  Cobbett,  "lies  the  vile,  rotten 
borough  of  Bletchingley;  but,  happily  for  Godstone, 
out  of  sight."  When  Members  of  Parliament  were 
thus  plentiful  at  Bletchingley,  what  a  price  the 
butchers  must  have  got  for  their  beagle  dogs — just 
before  election. 

The  one  church  of  Bletchingley  is  now  far  too  large 
for  the  village,  and  it  has  a  monument  inside  it  far  too 
large  for  the  church — a  monument  which  absolutely 
covers  up  the  whole  side  of  a  wall  in  the  south  chancel. 
The  person  whom  it  commemorates  is  Sir  Robert 
Clayton,  who  died  in  1707.  He  never  could  have 
done  an^'thing  bad  enough  to  deserve  this  terrific 
monument.  The  figures,  the  "angels,"  the  inscription, 
everything  about  it  is  like  a  fearful  nightmare.  I  tried 
to  turn  my  attention  to  a  brass  near  the  altar,  to  a 
priest — no  inscription.  Thereupon  the  clerk,  who  had 
a  very  melancholy  manner — as  how  could  a  man  fail 
to  have  who  was  doomed  to  live  within  a  few  yards  of 
that  fearful  monument  ? — told  me  a  curious  little 
story  : — 

"  You  see  that  brass  ?     Well,  a  very  strange  thing 


242         Field  Paths  and  Gircn  Lanes,  en.  xvnr. 

happened  about  that.  It  used  be  over  there  by  the 
bolfry,  partly  hidden  under  a  seat.  One  day  a  gentle- 
man in  a  carriage  called  at  my  house  to  see  the  church. 
I  happened  to  be  away  from  home,  and  he  said  to  my 
missis,  '  You  have  no  occasion  to  come  down — we  are 
only  going  to  look  over  the  cliurch.'  So,  being  in  a 
carriage,  she  gave  him  the  keys,  and  thought  no  more 
about  it.  The  next  time  I  went  to  the  church,  that 
hrass  ivas  gone  !  " 

"And  I  suppose  you  were  pretty  well  scared  ?  " 
"  Well,  I  did  not  like  it  at  all,  but  I  did  not  know 
what  to  do.  I  often  thought  about  the  stolen  brass, 
but  could  get  no  trace  of  it.  At  last,  one  day,  a 
srentleman  came  here,  and  he  looked  down  and  saw 
the  traces  of  the  brass  in  the  stone — the  vacant  place, 
you  understand.  Said  he,  '  Why,  good  gracious,  I 
think  1  know  where  that  brass  is.'  '  Do  you  ? '  said  I, 
'  where  ? '  '  Why,  in  my  house  in  London.  I  bought 
it  not  long  ago  in  Soho  Square.  If  you  like  I  will 
send  it  to  you.'  Of  course  I  said  I  should  like  it  very 
much,  but  I  thought  it  was  all  idle  talk.  But  he  really 
did  send  it  down,  and  the  moment  I  set  eyes  on  it  I 
knew  it  again  directly,  but  the  inscription  was  gone. 
We  never  got  that  back.  The  gentleman  said  he  went 
to  Soho  Square  to  see  if  he  could  find  it,  but  it  was  not 
there.  Very  likely  some  descendant  of  the  family  had 
taken  it  away.  Since  then  I  never  let  anybody  come 
to  the  church  alone." 

"  And  quite  right  too,"  said  I.    "  I  wonder  whether 
the  gentleman  who  returned   the  brass  had  ever,  by 


CH.  XVIII.  Redhill  to  Croiulmrst.  243 

any  chance,  seen  or  met  the  gentleman  who  took  it 
away  ?  " 

The  old  clerk  only  shook  his  head.  "  How  long 
have  you  lived  here  ? "  I  asked  him.  He  said  seventy- 
five  years  !  Seventy-five  years  of  life  in  Bletchingley, 
near  that  monument.     Nothing  will  kill  some  people. 

As  I  passed  down  the  town,  there  were  the  beagle 
dogs,  and  there  was  the  butcher's  wife  standing  at  the 
door,  blithe  and  smiling,  I  stayed  to  talk  with  her  a 
little  further  in  reference  to  beagle  dogs,  when  the 
batcher  took  out  a  big  knife,  and  began  sharpening  it 
on  his  steel,  casting  a  sheep-killer's  eye  towards  me  ; 
and  it  occurred  to  me  that  I  might  as  well  be  getting 
homewards.  A  very  nice  sort  of  place,  this  Bletching- 
ley, not  in  the  least  dull  as  I  first  imagined,  and  the 
old  clerk  is  quite  right  not  to  give  it  up  just  yet. 
There,  however,  goes  my  road  to  Godstone,  and  a  very 
pretty  road  it  is,  and  Godstone  is  prettier  still,  with  its 
large  and  picturesque  village-green,  its  old  houses,  and 
its  comfortable  inn,  long,  low,  and  bedecked  with 
flowers.  The  church,  which  stands  at  a  little  distance 
from  the  village,  has  been  restored  by  Sir  Gilbert  Scott 
— and  restored  in  the  best  sense  of  the  word,  not 
defaced  and  ruined.  If  all  our  churches  had  been 
dealt  with  by  a  similar  hand,  we  should  have  done 
almost  as  much  for  ecclesiastical  architecture  as  the 
Roman  Catholics. 

After  lingering  over  the  ruins  of  an  elm-tree 
which  stands  just  in  front  of  the  inn — the  mere  rind  of 
one  half  of  the  trunk,  quite  bare  and  shiny,  and  yet 


244         Field  Paths  and  Green  Lanes,  en.  xvm. 

with  a  viijorous  outgrowth  of  branches  and  leaves 
above — I  made  the  best  of  my  way  to  Crowhurst. 
And  the  best  is  not  good,  for  the  roads  soon  begin  to 
show  a  change  of  "  formation  " — from  gravel  and  sand 
one  passes  to  wet,  greasy,  sticky  clay.  There  had  been 
showers  throughont  the  afternoon,  and  now  the  roads 
were  in  that  condition  in  which  one  takes,  according  to 
the  old  saying,  "  one  step  fo]  ward  and  two  steps  back- 
wards." Horace  evidently  encountered  similar  roads 
on  his  way  to  Rubi : — 

"  Inde  Kubos  fessi  perveniinus,  utpote  ]on<:;um 
Carpentes  iter,  et  factum  con-uptius  imbrc." 

I  found  my  w^ay,  after  a  long  and  tedious  tramp,  to 
Crowhurst  church,  and  soon  forgot  all  about  roads  and 
weather.  Here  is  another  veritable  relic  of  the  old 
times  still  left  to  us — a  little  piece  of  the  England 
of  our  forefathers.  Long-past  years  liave  left  their  trace 
on  everything  around,  on  yonder  farm-house,  called  the 
"  Mansion  House,"  with  its  strangely  trimmed  yew 
trees,  and  its  old  walls  and  chimneys,  no  less  than  upon 
this  ancient  church.  Even  wdiile  yet  on  the  outskirts 
of  the  village,  the  greyness  of  antiquity  made  itself 
felt  as  well  as  seen — it  was  in  the  very  air.  Generations 
have  come  and  gone,  and  seen  no  change  in  anything 
surrounding  us  here.  The  yew  tree,  says  Murray's 
"Guide,"  "may  probably  contend  w'ith  its  venerable 
brother  at  Crowhurst  in  Sussex,  which,  according  to 
Decandolle,  is  one  thousand  two  hundred  years  old." 
The  inside  of  the  tree  has  been  "  barbarously  hollowed 


CH.  XVIII.  RedJiill  to  Crozu hurst.  245 

out,"  as  the  same  writer  very  properly  describes  the 
operation,  and  you  open  a  door  and  walk  inside  the 
tree.  There  are  wooden  benches  fixed  against  the 
trunk,  and  a  little  round  table  in  the  middle,  and 
according  to  my  calculation,  fourteen  or  fifteen  persons 
could  seat  themselves  at  this  table.  Pic-nic  parties 
still  meet  here  occasionally,  drinking  and  carousing ; 
but  a  boy  from  the  rectory  who  showed  me  the  church 
said  that  the  new  rector  would  not  allow  this  practice 
to  be  carried  on,  and  I  hope  he  will  be  as  good  as  his 
word.  The  top  of  the  tree  is  fresh  and  green,  and  in 
parts  it  has  been  strengthened  with  iron  plates.  The 
girth  of  the  trunk  is  nearly  thirty-one  feet,  about  eight 
feet  more  than  the  largest  of  the  yews  which  I  measured 
at  Norbury.  Large  wens  or  "  bosses  "  have  grown  upon 
it,  and  yet  in  spite  of  all  that  time  and  ill-usage  can 
do,  it  remains  a  noble  tree,  worth  travelling  over  many 
a  mile  of  clayey  roads  to  gaze  upon.  The  boy  from  the 
rectory  said  that  the  tree  was  "  fourteen  thousand 
years  old."  I  suggested  fourteen  hundred,  but  he 
declined  to  make  any  correction  in  his  estimate,  and 
said  he  knew  it  was  fourteen  thousand,  for  his  master 
had  told  him  so.     So  fourteen  thousand  be  it. 

The  church,  though  small,  well  repaid  me  for  the 
time  which  I  had  spent  in  going  to  it.  There  are  some 
fi-agments  of  the  ancient  stained  glass  to  be  seen  here 
and  there;  a  very  old  communion  table,  and  a  font 
perhaps  still  older ;  an  inscription  on  a  tomb  near  the 
altar  to  one  of  the  Gaynesford  family  (date  1591),  which 
formerly  made  no  inconsiderable  figure  in  these  parts, 


246         Field  PatJis  and  Green  Lanes,  ch.  xvm. 


and  another  memorial  to  Richard  Cholmley,  date  l(j34. 
A  little  corner  of  the  church  is  curtained  off,  and  this, 
it  appears,  is  the  vestry.  I'here  is  an  ancient  chest  in 
this  inconvenient  robing-room,  and  part  of  a  brass  on 
the  floor.  The  churcli  looks  very  poor  as  well  as  old, 
and  in  truth  it  has  been  much  neglected.  The  old 
rector,  weighed  down  perhaps  with  roads  of  "bottomless 
clay,"  and  a  somewhat  melancholy  parish,  had  allowed 
the  churchyard  to  get  knee-deep  in  brambles,  and  I 
was  assured  that  "  the  birds  had  made  such  a  mess  in 
the  church  that  you  could  scarcely  sit  down."  But  all 
was  very  neat  and  tidy  when  I  was  there  on  the  5th  of 
September,  187G,  and  the  new  rector's  mother  had 
worked  a  cover  for  the  communion  table,  and  the  signs 
of  tender  care  were  everywhere  visible.  They  had 
somewhat  softened  the  ruggedness  of  this  primitive 
country  church,  and  thrown  around  it  an  air  befitting 
so  venerable  and  sacred  a  place. 

From  the  church  there  is  a  path  across  fields  which 
affords  a  "  short  cut "  to  the  Godstone  station  on  the 
South  Eastern  railroad.  This  path  leads  out  upon  the 
turnpike  road,  near  some  tile  works,  and  then  the  road 
must  be  followed  till  you  come  to  a  little  public-house 
and  general  shop  near  a  railioad  bridge.  Here  you 
again  forsake  the  road,  turning  in  by  a  gate  at  the  side 
of  the  shop,  and  pursuing  a  path  on  the  edge  of  the 
fields,  Avitli  the  railroad  running  on  an  embankment 
close  to  the  right  hand.  It  is  two  miles  by  this  path 
to  the  station,  and  nearly  four  by  the  road. 

About  a  mile  from  the  church  there  is  an  old  moated 


cii.  xviir.  Redhill  to  Ci'-oiu/mrsi.  247 

house,  called  Crowhurst  Place.  The  kitchen  is  of  gi'eat 
size,  but  apparently  lies  below  the  level  of  the  water. 
There  are  great  carp  in  the  moat,  and  the  worthy 
farmer  who  lives  in  the  house  seldom  refuses  anyone 
permission  to  fish  for  them.  But,  after  all,  it  is  the 
old  yew  tree  in  the  churchyard  which  still  brings  the 
pilgrim  to  Crowhurst.  Surely  it  was  this  tree,  or  its 
contemporary  in  Sussex,  which  inspired  the  lines  of 
Tennyson  : — 

"Old  yew,  which  gi-aspest  at  the  stones 
That  name  the  underlying  dead, 
Thy  fibres  net  the  dreamless  head, 
Thy  roots  are  wrapt  about  the  bones. 

"  The  seasons  bring  the  flower  again, 
And  bring  the  firstling  to  the  flock  ; 
And  in  the  dusk  of  thee,  the  clock 
Beats  out  the  little  lives  of  men. 

"0  not  for  thee  the  glow,  the  bloom, 
Who  changest  not  in  any  gale. 
Nor  bianding  summer  suns  avail 
To  touch  thy  thousand  years  of  gloom." 


CHAPTER    XIX. 

EWIIUUST,    ALBURY,    AND   CIIILWORTII. 

Tlie  Wild  Commons  and  Heaths  of  Surrey.  — A  Word  of  Warning.— 
Sutton,  Felday,  and  Joldwyns.— The  "Lucky"  Leveson-Gowers. 
Holmbury  Hill. —The  Water  Carrier. — A  Stonebreaker's  Recol- 
lections.—How  Mr.  Hull  was  Buried.— Old  Roads  and  New. — 
Ewhurst  Church  and  its  Critic— An  Engli.sh  Sleepy-Hollow. — 
Moorland  and  Solitary  Roads.— Albury  and  Chil worth. — Cob- 
bett's  Curse. 

The  road  throughout  this  Avalk  leads  on  through 
woodland  and  common,  by  paths  bordered  "with  fir 
trees,  or  passing  over  hills  beneath  which  a  great 
part  of  the  wealds  of  Surrey  and  Sussex  lie  extended 
before  the  traveller.  By  far  the  larger  proportion  of 
the  land  through  which  he  must  pass  is  uncultivated. 
Considering  the  small  size  of  the  county  of  Surrey,  the 
extent  of  it  which  lies  a  mere  wilderness  in  these  busy 
days  is  simply  amazing.  The  whole  county  is  but 
twenty-seven  miles  in  length,  and  not  more  than  forty 
in  breadth,  yet  it  contains  almost  every  variety  of 
scenery,  scarcely  one  mile  is  like  another,  and  often 
the  whole  character  of  the  country  undergoes  an  utter 
change  within  the  space  of  half  a  dozen  miles.  Where, 
out  of  Scotland,  can  be  found  such  moors  and  heaths  as 
those  between  Thursley  and  Hindhead,  or  even  between 


CH.  XIX.   Ewlmrst,  Albitry,  and  Chilzvo7^th.     249 

Albury  and  Ewhurst?  Many  of  the  commons  or  downs 
are  familiar  to  excursionists,  but  the  heaths  in  the 
more  distant  and  neglected  parts  of  the  county  are 
little  visited.  The  cottagers  to  be  met  with  here  and 
there  will  tell  you  that  they  scarcely  ever  see  a  stranger 
from  one  year's  end  to  another. 

The  route  which  I  followed  between  Albury  and 
Ewhurst,  and  again  from  Ewhurst  to  Chilworth,  is  not 
marked  upon  any  map,  and  it  goes  a  long  way  round. 
But  it  has  the  merits  of  embracing  the  best  points  in 
the  scenery,  and  of  starting  from  one  railroad  station 
and  returning  to  another  on  the  same  line.  The  best 
way  is  to  begin  the  journey  at  the  Gomshall  .station  on 
the  South  Eastern  railroad,  and  end  it  at  the  Chilworth 
station — but  particular  care  should  be  taken  beforehand 
to  ascertain  that  a  train  will  touch  at  Chilworth  in  the 
direction  the  traveller  wishes  to  go,  and  at  the  hour  he 
expects  to  arrive  there,  for  Chilworth  is  a  benighted 
place,  very  few  trains  stop  at  it  in  the  course  of  the  day, 
and  there  is  no  other  conveyance  of  any  kind  to  be  had. 

From  Gomshall  station  the  road  turns  to  the  left 
under  the  first  railroad  arch,  and  then  it  swerves  to  the 
right  soon  after  passing  a  blacksmith's  forge.  Having 
got  this  short  distance  on  the  journey,  we  are  apparently 
beyond  the  limits  of  civilisation.  No  houses  are  to  be 
seen,  no  farms,  no  churches.  The  first  village  to  be 
seen,  if  village  it  can  be  called,  is  Sutton,  a  very 
different  place  from  the  comfortable-looking  Sutton 
known  to  all  Londoners.     Here  there  are  but  three  or 

four  tumble-down  cottages,  and  a  gloomy  little  public - 
12 


250         Field  Paths  and  Green  Lanes,    ch.  xix. 

house  under  the  soundinc^  name  of  the  "  Abinger 
Arms."  The  road  continues  through  a  waste  looking 
region,  without  any  features  of  great  interest,  until  you 
reach  Felday,  another  small  village  not  down  on  the 
one-inch  ordnance  map.  Except  that  the  houses  here 
are  of  wood  or  brick,  and  not  of  mud,  the  place  looks 
very  like  a  Hindoo  village  in  Bengal — a  few  hovels  on 
each  side  of  th*e  road,  and  low  "jungle"  beyond.  The 
country,  however,  is  a  little  more  open  than  it  would 
be  near  a  similar  settlement  in  Bengal.  On  the  right- 
hand  side  of  the  road  is  a  mean  sort  of  house,  which 
must  not  be  disrespectfully  spoken  of,  for  it  is  "  Felday 
Church" — the  only  church  for  some  distance  round,  the 
nearest  to  it  being  the  one  at  Abinger.  It  is  a  com- 
mon private  house  turned  into  a  place  of  worship.  The 
parsonage  close  by  looks  in  a  little  better  condition, 
but  Felday  is  a  wretched,  half  deserted  spot,  consisting 
entirely  of  the  few  scattered  cottages  I  have  mentioned, 
a  brick  field,  and  a  melancholy  roadside  inn  called  the 
"Royal  Oak." 

From  this  group  of  depressing  habitations  the  road 
took  a  sudden  turn  with  manifest  pleasure,  and  after  a 
time  it  plucked  up  a  little  spirit,  and  began  to  produce 
its  "  views."  It  went  rather  up-hill  till  it  reached  a 
house  called  (as  near  as  I  could  make  out)  "  Jold- 
wynds,"  in  the  grounds  of  which  were  to  be  seen  a  couple 
of  ladies  sketching.  If  ever  you  do  meet  with  anybody 
about  here,  man  or  woman,  he  or  she  is  sure  to  be 
sketching,  and  you  dare  not  ask  a  question  for  fear  of 
spoiling  the  pictui'e  and  getting  most  horribly  snubbed 


CH.  XIX.   Ewhiirst,  Albicry,  and  Chilwo7'th.     251 

into  the  bargain.  To  ask  a  stranger  a  direction  in 
English  country  places  is  a  serious  undertaking.  I 
have  sometimes  got  a  civil  answer,  sometimes  none 
at  all,  and  thus  I  have  been  duly  impressed  with  a 
sense  of  my  own  unworthiness,  and  of  the  immense 
superiority  of  the  person  whom  I  had  addressed  without 
a  proper  introduction. 

Just  above  "Joldwynds"  the  view  opens  in  a  very 
striking  manner,  with  Leith  Hill  to  the  left,  and  a  rich 
and  beautiful  country  lying  between.  There  is  now 
nothing  but  good  in  store  for  the  traveller.  He  may 
shake  the  dust  of  Felday  from  his  feet,  and  look  for- 
ward to  one  pleasant  surprise  after  another.  He  will 
soon  come  to  one  of  the  seats  belonging  to  the  "  lucky  " 
Leveson-Gowers,  and  assuredly  any  man  would  deserve 
to  be  called  lucky,  even  if  he  owned  no  other  place  than 
this.  The  house  stands  on  an  eminence  facing  the 
south,  and  sheltered  from  the  north  by  Holmbury  Hill. 
Not  only  are  the  grounds  themselves  as  fair  and 
beautiful  as  an  exquisite  picture,  but  for  miles  beyond 
and  around  them  the  whole  country  looks  like  a  vast 
park,  and  one  might  easily  fancy  that  it  was  a  portion 
of  this  estate.  Often  in  passing  through  such  places, 
after  having  talked  with  people  by  the  wayside,  the 
thought  passes  through  the  mind,  "  Will  all  this  last  ? 
Are  there  not  forces  at  work,  and  men  able  and  eager 
to  use  them,  which  -will  make  great  changes  in  the  face 
of  England  ere  another  century  has  passed  over  our 
heads  ?  "     Who  can  tell  ? 

The  public  road  winds   round  at  the  back  of  Mr. 


252         Field  Paths  and  Green  Lanes,    ch.  xix. 

Leveson-Gower's  house,  but  I  asked  at  the  lodge  gates 
if  I  might  walk  through  the  park,  and  was  not  refused. 
I  saw  at  a  glance  that  it  Avould  cut  off  a  very  large 
corner,  and  so  it  did — moreover,  the  carriage  drive 
opens  to  the  visitor  all  the  manifold  beauties  of  the 
coimtry.  Holmbury  Hill  at  the  back  of  the  house  is 
well  worth  climbing,  but  on  this  particular  occasion  I 
liad  my  day's  work  already  cut  out  for  me.  Through 
the  lodge  gates  at  the  other  end  of  the  park  I  passed 
out  to  the  turnpike  road  once  more,  having  saved 
altogether  not  much  less  than  a  mile. 

Many  good  ash  trees  now  fringe  the  road — the  pre- 
vailing tree  throughoiit  this  part  of  the  journey.  I 
noticed  a  little  spring  on  the  road-side,  and  presently 
overtook  a  poor  woman  walking  inside  a  hoop,  with  a 
pail  of  water  in  each  hand.  She  looked  very  thin  and 
miserable,  as  if  it  seldom  fell  to  her  lot  to  have  enough 
to  eat.  The  water  was  splashing  all  over  her  patched 
and  worn  out  gown.  I  asked  her  wliy  she  did  not  put 
a  flat  piece  of  wood  on  the  water  in  each  pail,  which 
would  prevent  any  slopping  over  ?  She  said  she  had 
never  heard  of  it.  She  put  down  her  pails  on  the  road, 
and  we  stood  and  talked.  She  might  have  been  about 
twenty-eight  or  thh'ty,  but  a  hard  life  probably  made 
her  look  older  than  she  really  was.  As  I  looked  at  her 
and  recalled  the  fine  house  up  above,  I  thought  of 
Thackeray's  stern  cry,  "  Awful,  awful  poor  man's 
country ! "  Perhaps  there  is  no  one  to  blame  for  it, 
but  these  contrasts  are  startling  to  anyone  who  has 
not  become  so  accustomed  to  them  as  to  cease  to  notice 


cu.  XIX.   Ewhurst,  Albtiry,  and  CJiilworth.     253 

them  at  all.  They  are  all  the  more  startling  because 
the  English  people  cannot  disguise  their  poverty  as  the 
French  and  Germans  can,  or  even  as  the  poorer  classes 
in  America  manage  to  do.  They  make  no  attempt  to 
carry  it  off  well.  With  our  countrymen  and  women 
it  stands  out  grim-faced  and  repulsive,  in  all  its  tragic 
misery  and  horror. 

This  poor  woman  seemed  suspicious  at  first,  but 
presently  she  told  me  that  she  had  to  fetch  all  the 
water  that  was  needed  for  her  family  from  this  spring. 
It  was  full  a  quarter  of  a  mile  from  her  cottage. 
"Have  you  no  water  there  at  all?"  I  asked.  "No," 
she  said,  "  not  a  drop." 

"  In  the  very  hot  weather  we  had  this  summer,"  she 
went  on,  "this  spring  was  dried  up,  and  so  I  had  to  go 
all  the  way  to  Ewhurst  for  water.  Every  drop  we 
drink  or  use  has  to  be  carried  up  in  these  pails.  I 
has  enough  to  do  to  get  water  for  'em  all."  She  took 
up  her  load  again  and  walked  on. 

"  How  many  of  you  are  there  ?  " 

"Three  children  and  a  pig."  A  pig,  thought  I — 
doubtless  she  means  her  husband,  and  not  a  bad  name 
for  any  man  who  would  let  his  wife  drag  out  her 
strength  and  life  in  this  way.  But  presently  she 
mentioned  her  husband  separately,  not  as  a  pig. 

"  Does  he  ever  help  you  to  fetch  the  water  ? " 
said  I. 

She  gave  a  dull  sort  of  smile  and  answered,  "  Some- 
times in  the  evening — when  he  can,"  she  added  in  a 
queer  tone. 


254         Field  Paths  and  Green  Lajies.     ch.  xix. 

"  When  he  has  not  been  drinking  something  stronger 
himself?" 

"  Yes,  sir,  thcit's  it.  My  three  children  cannot  earn 
anything  yet,  for  they  are  none  of  'em  five  years  old, 
and  that  keeps  us  poor.  When  they  can  go  out  we 
shall  do  better."  It  is  the  only  use  of  the  children  of 
the  poor — to  be  turned  adrift  to  earn  something. 

"  I  suppose  you  find  it  hard  sometimes  to  get  them  a 
dinner  ? " 

"They  generally  get  a  good  slice  of  bread,  and 
sometimes  a  bit  of  treacle,  and  it  is  hard  to  get 
that." 

By  this  time  we  had  come  up  to  an  old  man  who 
was  breaking  a  heap  of  stones  by  the  road  side,  and 
who  had  a  great  pair  of  horn  spectacles  on  his  nose. 
We  all  three  fell  into  a  conversation.  The  stone- 
breaker  evidently  knew  the  woman — her  cottage  was 
now  in  sight.  We  could  also  see  the  tower  upon  Leith 
Hill  from  where  we  stood. 

"  When  I  was  a  boy,"  said  the  stonebreaker,  "  I  heard 
an  old  man  say  that  he  had  seen  the  funeral  of  Mr. 
Hull  in  that  tower.  He  said  he  was  pitched  in  head 
first.  The  people  there  were  all  laughing  and  playing 
up  tricks,  and  they  just  threw  the  corpse  in  anyhow." 

"  Why  didn't  he  want  to  be  buried  like  a  Christian?" 
asked  the  woman. 

"  Because  gentlefolks  can  be  buried  how  they  likes." 
A  decisive  answer. 

"  Were  the  roads  hereabouts  as  good  as  this  when 
you  were  a  boy  ? "  said  I. 


CH.  XIX.   Ewhurst,  Albiiry,  and  CJiilwoi^th.     255 

"  Lor  bless  you  no,  sir.  They  are  well  enough  to 
look  at  now,  but  it  is  all  wet  clay  underneath  the  surface. 
Not  many  years  ago,  you  would  have  stuck  fast  in  them 
in  wet  weather.  You  are  in  a  clayey  country  about 
here — poor  land,  poor  people." 

"  How  much  do  you  earn  a  week  ? " 

"  Six  or  seven  shillings — but  not  always.  In  the 
winter  I  can  scarcely  earn  anything,  for  you  see  I'm 
not  very  young.  Howsomever,  grumbling  won't  help 
a  body,  will  it  ?  " 

I  said  I  thought  not,  but  was  not  quite  sure,  and  tried 
to  find  out  what  the  old  man  had  been  before  he  took 
to  stone  breaking,  but  he  did  not  seem  disposed  to  tell. 
A  few  questions  about  wages  and  expenses  of  living,  and 
the  poor  will  instantly  be  on  their  guard,  as  if  they 
expected  a  visit  from  the  tax  gatherer. 

"  There's  your  old  man  a-calling  for  you,"  said  the 
stonebreaker  to  the  woman,  and  off  she  went.  The 
old  fellow  bent  down  over  his  heap  of  stones,  and  went 
on  hammering  away  at  them,  and  I  walked  on  think- 
ing of  what  Cobbett  said  of  these  roads.  "  From 
Ewhurst  the  first  three  miles  was  the  deepest  clay 
that  I  ever  saw  to  the  best  of  my  recollection.  I  was 
warned  of  the  difficulty  of  getting  along  ;  but  I  was  not 
to  be  frightened  at  the  sound  of  clay.  It  took  me  a  good 
hour  and  a  half  to  get  along  these  three  miles.  Now 
mind,  this  is  the  real  Weald,  where  the  clay  is  bottom- 
less." Such  work  as  that  at  which  I  found  the  poor  old 
stonebreaker  has  made  all  the  difference. 

A  sharp  walk  along  a  circuitous  sort  of  road  soon 


256         Field  Paths  and  Green  Lanes,    ch,  xix. 

landed  me  in  Ewliurst,  where  I  saw  very  little  prospect 
of  getting  the  simplest  kind  of  refreshment.  Yet  the 
day  was  hot,  and  the  way  home  long,  and  even  a  glass 
of  decent  ale  would  have  been  acceptable.  But  the 
two  or  three  public-houses  in  the  place  seemed  to  be 
of  the  most  squalid  kind. 

Ewhurst  church  rests  under  the  stigma  of  bavins: 
been  "restored,"  and  indeed  it  appears  to  have  been 
almost  entirely  rebuilt  in  1839.  It  is  still  pleasant  to 
look  upon,  in  spite  of  the  extremest  efforts  of  the  modern 
plasterer  and  nuison  to  make  it  otherwise.  A  local 
personage  who  followed  me  into  the  church,  and  kept 
a  careful  watch  on  all  my  movements  while  pretending 
to  look  for  a  book,  asked  me  what  I  thought  of  the 
church.     I  said  that  I  thought  very  well  of  it. 

"But,  dear  me,"  he  continued,  looking  at  both  me 
and  the  church  with  the  utmost  contempt,  "  don't  you 
see  that  it  is  cruciform  ?  " 

"  Bless  my  soul,"  said  I,  starting  back  apparently 
much  shocked,  "  so  it  is.     I  never  noticed  that  before." 

"  Certainly,"  said  the  stranger,  a  little  relenting 
towards  mo,  "A  perfect  barbarism.  I  despise  a 
cruciform  church,  sir,"  laying  a  stress  upon  the  word 
"  despise,"  which  seemed  intended  to  challenge  me  to 
take  up  the  cudgels  for  it  if  I  dared.  But  I — what 
could  I  say  for  the  poor  old  church  ?  I  did  not  build 
it,  or  even  restore  it.  Yet  I  began  to  take  rather  a 
fancy  to  it,  hearing  it  thus  abused,  and  admired  its  old 
oaken  gallery,  its  carved  pulpit  black  Avith  age,  its 
quaint  reading  desk,  its   ancient  font.      It  is  not  so 


CH.  XIX.    Ewhursi,  Albury,  and  Chilwortk.    257 

pretty  as  the  Rectory  hard  by,  which  can  show  a  good 
pedigree  back  to  the  time  of  James  the  First,  and 
looks  rather  like  the  home  of  some  well-to-do  squire 
than  of  a  country  parson.  Yet  the  church  is  worth 
going  to  see,  even  with  the  disadvantage  of  having 
a  local  critic  heaping  scorn  upon  you  for  liking  it. 

Then  I  went  forth  into  the  village,  which  is 
sufficiently  well  described  by  the  Americanism,  "a 
one-horse  place."  I  met  with  two  or  three  persons 
only  in  the  street,  and  they  seemed  to  be  half  asleep. 
At  the  post  office  a  woman  and  a  girl  turned  out  in 
some  consternation  to  look  at  me,  thinking  perhaps 
that  I  had  a  letter  concealed  about  me,  and  was  about 
to  post  it,  and  thus  overwhelm  them  with  work.  A 
waggoner  passed  by  on  a  load  of  hay,  fast  asleep.  I 
too  began  to  feel  drowsy,  and  hastened  away  towards 
that  windmill  which  makes  so  prominent  a  feature  in 
the  landscape  in  all  the  southern  part  of  Surrey.  The 
road  leads  north,  up  a  steepish  hill,  with  many  a  back- 
ward view  over  far-rgaching  heaths  and  home-like 
fields.  To  the  right  hand  a  still  higher  hill  ascends 
from  the  road,  covered  with  deep  ferns  and  heaths.  It 
is  called  "Pitch  Hill."  There  is  a  roadside  inn  with 
the  sign  of  the  windmill,  and  I  met  with  three  or  four 
artists  within  a  mile,  and  had  a  strictly  "private  view" 
of  several  paintings  destined  to  be  submitted  to  public 
inspection  on  the  walls  of  the  Academy.  No  more 
delightful  scene  than  this  is  open  to  mortal  to  transfer 
to  canvas — if  only  the  mortal  could  be  found  capable 
of  doing  it. 


258         Field  Paths  and  Green  Lanes,    ch.  xix. 

Drop  a  man  down  from  a  balloon  in  this  part,  and 
ask  liim  wliere  he  is,  and  he  will  probably  guess  the 
North  of  Derbyshire.  There  are  long  stretches  of 
moorland  and  heather-clad  hills,  and  solitary  roads 
almost  swallowed  up  by  the  ferns,  and  disappearing  in 
great  fir-woods.  For  a  mile  or  two  you  are  hemmed  in 
among  these  woods,  and  then  the  whole  scene  changes 
as  it  were  in  a  moment — the  heath  and  firs  are  left 
behind,  and  you  come  out  upon  a  deep  lane  bordered 
with  hazel  trees  and  young  oaks,  and  as  this  lane  goes 
on,  you  will  notice  that  the  sandy  soil  has  been  much 
washed  awa}',  leaving  the  roots  of  the  trees  all  bare. 
There  is  one  good-sized  beech  especially  from  which 
the  soil  has  all  run  away,  and  which  is  left  like 
a  vagrant,  without  any  visible  means  of  support. 
Presently  we  come  to  a  farm-house  on  our  left  — 
the  first  we  have  seen  since  we  left  Ewhurst,  and 
then  a  wider  sweep  of  country  appears  in  front,  and 
the  Guildford  Hills  and  St.  Martha's  Chapel.  Pass 
another  farm-house,  and  take  the  road  to  the  left — 
this  brings  us  out  upon  Shere  Heath,  a  noble  expanse, 
the  walk  across  which  might  make  an  old  man  feel 
young  again.  Then  by  a  north-westerly  course  over 
Albury  Common,  another  wide  and  breezy  heath,  where 
health  and  good  spirits  are  taken  in  at  every  breath. 
There  are  neither  houses  nor  land  to  be  had  about  here 
for  love  or  money.  When  you  come  to  a  cottage  near 
the  palings  at  your  right  hand,  leave  the  road,  and  cut 
straight  across  the  heath,  and  go  through  a  wood,  down 
a  deep  lane,  which  soon  becomes  so  narrow  that  it 


CH.  XIX.    Ew/nci^st,  Albtiry,  and  Chilworth.     259 

looks  little  else  than  a  dried  up  water-course.  At  the 
end,  take  the  road  to  the  left,  not  omitting  to  notice  the 
douLle  yew  tree  in  front  of  a  cottage,  trimmed  so  as  to 
form  an  archway.  This  brings  you  to  Albury,  where 
there  lives  a  being  who  pretends  to  let  out  flys,  and 
never"  by  any  chance  has  one  in — how  often  have  I 
arrived  at  his  mendacious  shop,  weary  and  footsore,  in 
the  hope  of  getting  a  lift  to  the  station,  and  been 
obliged  to  trudge  on  amid  the  ironical  remarks  of  the 
villagers,  upon  whom  even  Mr.  Tupper's  poems  (he 
lives  here,  and  his  books  are  sold  in  the  chandler's 
shop)  do  not  seem  to  have  produced  that  elevating 
influence  which  might  reasonably  have  been  looked 
for  from  them. 

Having,  then,  reached  Albury,  you  must  now  turn  to 
the  left,  and  keep  to  the  left,  for  about  a  mile  and  a 
half,  till  you  come  to  the  big  pond  and  the  powder 
mills,  and  the  remainder  of  Chilworth,  which  is  not 
much.  We  are  now  at  the  foot  of  the  hill  on  which 
stands  St.  Martin's  Church,  not  far  from  the  place 
where,  according  to  Manning,  was  formerly  "the 
mansion-house  of  the  lords  of  the  manor,  which  it 
continued  to  be  till  the  death  of  the  last  of  the 
Randylls.  After  that  it  was  used  as  a  farm-house." 
And  now  you  may  hunt  in  vain  for  the  smallest  trace 
of  the  building.  If  anybody  takes  an  interest  in  gun- 
powder mills,  there  they  are  at  Chilworth — I  do  not. 
The  roads  are  bad,  the  inn  is  wretched.  This  is  the 
place  so  energetically  denounced  by  Cobbett,  because  in 
his  day  bank-notes  and  gunpowder  were  manufactured 


26o         Field  Paths  and  Green  Lanes     ch.  xix. 

licre — "two  inventions  of  the  devil."  Now  only  one 
invention  of  the  devil  is  left.  Althougli  the  natural 
situation  of  Chil worth  is  most  beautiful,  and  the  hills 
at  the  back  are  glorious,  yet  the  railroad-crossing,  and 
tlie  coal-sheds,  and  the  out-buildings,  and  the  poverty- 
stricken  inn,  tend  somehow  to  give  the  village  a 
depressing  look ;  and  if  the  visitor  should  by  any 
adverse  chance  find  himself  belated  there  at  night, 
with  the  last  train  gone,  he  will  be  sorrowfully  inclined 
to  think  that  in  spite  of  all  the  charms  which  Nature 
has  scattered  around,  old  Cobbett's  curse  still  hangs 
over  Chilworth. 


CHAPTER    XX. 

FROM   EDEN  BRIDGE   TO   PENSHURST. 

A  Preliminary  Caution. — Edenbridge  and  Hever.— The  Castle  and 
Church.— Chiddingstone  and  its  Timber  Cottages.— The  Road 
to  Penshurst.  —A  Bid  for  Cottage  Furniture.  —Penshurst  Church. 
— The  Harvest  Thanksgiving. — Parson  Darkenoll. — Penshurst 
Place.— Lord  de  L'Isle's  Work  of  Restoration.— The  Baron's 
Hall.— Family  Portraits.  —  The  Broken  Mandolin.— The 
Library.— A  Stroll  in  the  Great  Park.— Sidney's  Oak.— The 
Old  Beeches  and  Yew. 

This  is  a  journey  of  about  ten  miles,  but  in  some 
parts  the  road  is  rather  bard  to  find,  and  if  the  object 
of  the  visitor  be  to  see  both  Hever  Castle  and  Pens- 
hurst Place,  he  must  devote  two  days  to  the  undertak- 
ing. For  Hever  Castle  is  shown  only  on  Wednesdays, 
and  Penshurst  on  Mondays  and  Saturdays.  There  is 
another  word  of  caution  which  may  be  usefully  given, 
and  it  is  this — if  you  ask  at  Edenbridge  or  Hever  the 
road  to  Penshurst,  be  sure  that  you  are  not  sent  on  to 
the  station,  unless  you  are  really  aiming  for  that  dismal 
spot.  The  station  is  two  miles  from  the  house  and 
village,  and  there  is  only  a  miserable  railroad-inn  there, 
where  the  louts  of  the  neighbourhood  are  always 
fuddling  themselves  over  thick  beer.  All  these  minor 
stations  on  the  South  Eastern  Railroad  are  far  away 


262         Field  Paths  and  Green  Lanes,      ch.  xx. 

from  the  towns  or  villages   whose    names   they  bear, 
and  more  depressing  places  in  which  a  man  may  be 
doomed  to  sjaend  an  hour  or  two  cannot  be  imagined. 
Edenbridge  station  is  about  a  mile  from  the  village. 

ft  o 

The  church  is  small,  but  it  gives  that  air  of  dignity  and 
peace  to  the  scene  which  is  so  seldom  absent  in  iiiral 
England.  "  The  walk  to  Hever,"  says  the  Handbook, 
"  across  the  fields  from  Edenbridge,  is  a  pleasant  one." 
This  was  quite  enough  to  set  me  hunting  diligently  for 
it.  Most  of  the  townsfolk  declared  they  had  never 
heard  of  such  a  walk,  and  looked  upon  me  with  manifest 
coldness  and  suspicion,  as  if  I  were  a  sort  of  cross 
between  a  tramp  and  a  policeman.  One  man  told  me 
to  go  through  the  churchyard  and  then  go  "straight 
forrards."  I  went  "  forrards "  until  I  found  myself 
brought  up  at  a  five-barred  gate,  "without  track  of  any 
kind  leading  from  it.  Then  I  turned  back  to  get  fresh 
directions.  An  old  woman  now  api^eared,  and  said 
you  could  go  by  the  fields  to  Hever  Castle,  leastways 
if  the  paths  were  not  stopped  up,  but  no  stranger  could 
find  the  way.  She  told  me  how  to  go,  but  unfor- 
tunately her  directions  were  far  more  hopelessly 
entangled  than  those  which  the  clown  gives  to  the 
foot-sore  stranger  in  the  pantomime.  I  therefore  gave 
up  the  field  path,  and  took  with  reluctance  to  the 
turnpike  road.  There  is  not  much  to  be  said  for  this 
road,except  that  it  is  tolerably  short — the  distance  to  the 
castle  being  three  miles.  About  half  way  I  met  with  a 
brother  tramp — a  man  of  foreign  appearance,  very  thin 
and  poor,  with  something  tied  up  in  a  torn  and  dirty 


CH.  XX.      From  Edenbiddge  to  Penshurst.        263 

pocket-handkerchief,  and  limping  slowly  and  painfully 
along.  He  said  nothing,  and  I  passed  on,  but  presently 
the  man's  starved  look  and  wan  face  smote  upon  me, 
and  I  looked  back.  He  was  hobbling  on  at  the  rate  of 
about  half  a  mile  an  hour.  1  leaned  over  a  gate  and 
waited  till  he  came  up.  "You  seem  tired,"  said  I, 
"  suppose  you  take  this  towards  your  night's  lodging," 
and  I  offered  him  sixpence.  "  I  didn't  ask  for  any- 
thing, did  I  ?  "  replied  he,  with  a  frightened  look.  "  No, 
but  take  it  all  the  same."  "  I  don't  want  it — not  but 
what  I'm  poor  enough,  God  knows."  "  Well  then,  why 
not  have  this  trifle  ?  "  "I  have  just  come  out  of  prison 
for  begging  a  penny  on  the  road,  and  now  you  are  offer- 
ing me  this  to  get  me  another  month — I  didn't  ask  you 
for  anything,  did  I  ?  Keep  your  money."  This,  upon 
the  whole,  is  the  most  wonderful  occurrence  that  has 
happened  to  me  in  all  my  walks.  My  thirsty  fellow- 
tramps  have  generally  taken  my  small  contributions  in 
the  most  obliging  manner. 

I  soon  left  this  poor  fellow  far  behind,  and  came  to 
Hever  Castle — the  castle  to  which  Mr.  Fronde's  hero, 
Henry  the  Eighth,  went  a-courting  to  Anne  Boleyn. 
I  saw  the  moat,  and  the  pleasant  gardens  round  about 
it,  and  the  red  and  white  roses  which  have  been  trained 
to  grow  up  each  side  of  the  principal  entrance — but 
more  than  that  I  was  not  allowed  to  see.  "Master 
says  as  no  strangers  can  come  in,"  said  the  servant 
girl.  Whereupon  I  took  myself  off.  But  at  the 
church  I  was  more  successful,  thanks  to  the  school- 
master  who   keeps    the    keys.      There   are   two   fine 


264         Field  Paths  and  Gi'ecn  Lanes,      ch.  xx. 

brasses  in  this  poor,  neglected,  dilapidated  church — one 
to  the  father  of  Anne  Boleyn,  in  perfect  condition,  and 
dated  1538.  The  other  is  to  the  memory  of  Margaret 
Cheyne,  dated  1419.  "  Your  church  is  in  a  shocking 
state,"  said  I  to  tlie  schoolmaster.  "  Yes,  sir,"  he  said, 
"  we  have  no  resident  gentry  now  about  here,  and  no 
one  will  do  anything  for  it."  The  pews  are  evidently 
ancient,  and  there  is  an  old  oaken  staircase,  quite 
rough,  going  up  the  tower  to  the  clock.  But  the  damp 
is  cracking  the  walls  in  all  directions,  and  it  may  be 
doubted  whether  the  tower  itself — a  picturesque  object 
for  miles  around — will  last  very  many  years  longer  if 
something  is  not  done  to  strengthen  it.  "The  Rector," 
remarked  the  schoolmaster,  "thinks  of  appealing  to  the 
public  for  help — we  are  all  very  poor  about  here.  It  is 
a  dreadfully  poor  place."  I  hope  the  Rector  will  suc- 
ceed, for  otherwise  the  old  church  will  come  tumbling 
about  his  ears  one  of  these  days. 

Having  ascertained  the  bearings  of  Penshurst,  I 
struck  across  the  churchyard  into  some  fields  east- 
ward of  Hever,  and  at  the  distance  of  a  mile  and  a 
half  came  upon  Chiddingstone,  one  of  those  quaint 
villages  which  it  is  worth  making  a  long  day's  march 
to  see.  The  timber  houses  are  very  old  and  pretty, 
and  afford  a  great  contrast  to  the  "  Squire's  house," 
which  is  a  large,  square,  uuornamental  jjile  of  brick 
and  mortar.  From  this  charming  village  I  got  sent 
on,  in  spite  of  all  my  precautions,  to  Penshurst  Station, 
with  its  dismal  inn,  and  had  to  double  back  the  road 
to  my  true  destination. 


CH.  XX.     Fi'oiit  Edenbridge  to  Penshurst.        265 

That  road  may  scarcely  attract  the  passing  glance  of 
persons  who  know  it  well,  but  the  stranger's  eye  will 
dwell  lovingly  upon  it,  for  a  deep  border  of  green  runs 
on  each  side  of  the  carriage  way,  and  numbers  of 
beautiful  trees  overhang  this  green  margin,  and  keep 
it  cool  and  shady.  These  trees,  especially  on  the  right- 
hand  side  of  the  road,  evidently  form  part  of  an  old 
and  fine  estate — there  are  cedars,  and  ash,  and  yew, 
which  have  not  grown  up  by  accident.  Just  beyond  is 
another  pretty  property,  belonging  to  Mr.  Nasmyth, 
the  engineer.  On  the  left  hand,  glimpses  are  occa- 
sionally caught  of  the  historic  house  to  which  we  are 
going,  and  long  before  it  is  reached  a  path  turns  into 
the  park  from  the  road.  But  the  best  plan  is  to  keep 
on  the  road  till  the  village  is  reached,  for  you  will  then 
go  right  past  the  house,  which  stands  only  a  few 
hundred  yards  back,  and  has  nothing  between  it  and 
you  to  obstruct  the  view.  A  little  further  on  is  the 
small  village  of  Penshurst,  consisting  of  little  more 
than  a  dozen  cottages  and  a  freshly  painted  inn  called 
the  Leicester  Hotel,  where  the  accommodation  is  plain 
but  comfortable,  everything  about  the  house  being 
remarkably  neat  and  clean. 

A  little  below  the  inn,  on  the  opposite  side  of  the 
way,  is  a  pollarded  oak,  and  that  leads  beneath  a 
couple  of  old  cottages  into  the  churchyard,  through 
which  there  is  a  path  to  the  great  house.  The  cottages 
form  a  sort  of  archway,  and  are  very  fine  specimens  of 
the  timbered  building  which  was  in  vogue  before  lath 
and  plaster  played  the  important  part  they  now  do  in 


266         Field  Paths  and  Green  Lanes,     cn.  xx. 

modern  dwellings.  From  the  churchyard  their  appear- 
ance is  particularly  striking.  They  form  a  fit  introduc- 
tion to  the  old  church  and  "castle,"  and  I  was  glad  to 
hear  that  Lord  de  L'lslc  would  "not  have  them  taken 
down  for  any  money."  He  has,  indeed,  been  at  con- 
siderable expense  to  keep  them  in  repair — only  a  small 
part  of  the  very  heavy  drain  which  this  estate  must 
have  kept  up  on  his  purse.  Near  the  door  of  one  of 
these  cottages  I  noticed  an  old-fashioned  piece  of  furni- 
ture, and  begged  to  be  allowed  to  look  at  it.  It  was 
of  oak,  curiously  carved,  and  black  with  age — a  sort  of 
cabinet  or  sideboard.  The  Avoman  with  the  keys  said 
it  belonged  to  her  husband's  family;  that  the  owner 
had  been  offered  £5  and  even  £7  for  it  by  "  a  person 
as  came  from  London,"  but  that  he  Avould  not  sell 
it  because  it  "  had  been  such  a  long  time  in  the 
family."  I  could  not  help  thinking  that  it  was  much 
to  the  cottager's  credit  to  keep  his  heir-loom,  and 
resist  the  temptations  of  that  crafty  person  as  came 
from  London. 

The  day  before  my  visit  (2nd  October,  1876),  there 
had  been  "  harvest  services  "  in  the  church,  and  the 
decorations  were  not  yet  withered.  Round  the  entrance 
door  was  a  garland  of  yellow  hops,  and  the  pillars  inside 
were  adorned  with  the  bloom  of  the  same  plant,  inter- 
twined with  chrysanthemums  and  other  autumn  flowers. 
There  was  a  wreath  of  apples  near  the  reading  desk, 
bright  rosy-cheeked  apples,  with  a  great  branch  of  the 
"  crab  "  near  them,  and  various  specimens  of  the  Imrvest 
of  the  district.      This  is  one  of  the  good  old  simple 


cH.  XX.     From  Edenbridge  to  Penshurst.        267 

customs  which  is  still  preserved  in  mauy  parts  of  the 
country,  and  which  it  is  to  be  hoped  will  survive 
the  "march  of  improvement"  yet  a  little  longer. 
The  church  has  been  wholly  "  restored,"  but  the  work 
was  done  with  care,  and  if  the  edifice  has  lost  much 
of  the  look  of  antiquity,  it  has  gained  in  durability, 
and  will  probably  now  stand  for  generations  to  come. 
In  the  south  chancel,  or  Sidney  chapel,  are  several  in- 
teresting brasses,  among  them  a  small  and  very  plain 
one — the  plainest  and  rudest  I  ever  saw — inscribed  to 
"Thomas  Bullayen,  the  sone  of  S}t  Thomas  Bullayen," 
whose  tomb  is  at  Hever  Church.  There  is  no  date. 
Close  by  is  a  mutilated  bust,  lying  close  to  the 
wall  upon  the  ground,  supposed  to  be  of  the  Thomas 
Pencester  whose  family  held  the  Penshurst  estate  for 
two  hundred  years  after  the  Conquest.  There  is  a  brass 
to  Margaret  Sidney,  sister  to  Dorothy,  the  Saccharissa 
of  Waller,  the  said  Margaret  having  died,  as  is  carefully 
set  forth,  on  Easter  Day,  15.58,  aged  only  one  year  and 
three-quarters.  There  are  also  two  good  figures  of 
Thomas  Yden  and  Agnes  his  wife  (1558),  and  a  large 
monument  to  Kobert  Sidney,  Earl  of  Leicester,  and  his 
wife,  who  "  lived  thirty  happy  years  together,  and  had 
fifteen  children,  of  whom  nine  died  young."  In  the 
north  chancel  opposite  there  is  a  brass  to  the  memory 
of  some  old  parson  who  seems  to  have  had  a  touch  of 
humour  in  him,  and  Avho  left  for  posterity  this  account 
of  himself  and  his  belongings  : — 

"  Here  lyeth  W"  Darkenoll,  P-son  of  this  place 
Endynge  his  ministeri  even  this  yeare  of  grace  1596. 


268         Field  Paths  and  Green  Lanes,      en.  xx. 

His  father  and  motlier  and  wyves  two  by  name 

so         88  r.o       f.7 

John     Jone     and  two  Margarets  all  lyved  in  good  fame  . 

Their  severall  ages  who  lyketh  to  know 
Over  each  of  their  names  the  figures  do  shewe  . 
Tlie  sonnes  and  daughters  now  spronge  of  this  race 
Are  fyve  score  and  od  in  every  place. 

Deceased  July  12th  anno  supradco. " 

There  follow  a  scriptural  "  application  "  and  a  death's 
head  and  crossbones.  But  what  is  strange  is  that  no 
record  appears  in  the  parish  register  of  any  one  named 
Darkenoll  being  "  parson  of  this  place,"  although  I  was 
told  there  used  to  be  a  family  of  that  name  living  in 
an  old  house  somewhere  in  the  neighbourhood.  In  the 
tower  wall  a  coffin  lid  has  been  inserted,  carved  in  stone, 
with  a  vivid  figure  apparently  clinging  to  a  cross.  The 
features  are  contorted  as  if  in  pain.  "  This  is  supposed 
to  be  the  figure  of  the  guardian  of  Thomas  Pencester," 
said  the  custodian  of  the  church;  but  who  this  guardian 
was,  or  why  he  was  thus  depicted,  there  is  no  one  who 
can  tell. 

Adjoining  the  Church  is  the  Rectory,  a  house  of  the 
time  of  Charles  the  First,  thoroughly  home-like  in  its 
appearance,  and  with  that  bright  ornament,  a  very 
pretty  garden,  in  front.  A  few  yards  off  is  the 
great  "  Kentish  shrine  "  of  Penshurst,  lying  long  and 
low  and  covering  a  great  space  of  ground — partly 
ancient,  partly  modern  in  its  external  walls,  but  wear- 
ing over  all  that  indescribable  look  which  speaks  of  the 
long  past,  and  of  generations  which  have  flourished  and 
disappeared  while  those  old  bricks  and  stones  were 
resisting  the  winds  and  rains  of  five  hundred  winters, 


CH.  XX.     From  Edenbridge  to  Penshurst.        269 

and  owners  and  builders,  and  all  their  descendants,  and 
millions  of  our  kind  throughout  the  world,  were  being 
swept  quietly  into  the  grave. 

Yet  time  had  laid  its  hand  heavily  upon  this  house, 
and  but  for  great  care  and  prodigal  expenditure  it 
would  ere  now  have  been  merely  a  picturesque  ruin. 
A  few  years  ago,  it  was  found  necessary  to  shore 
up  many  of  the  old  rooms,  for  they  had  become 
absolutely  dangerous.  The  most  extensive  works  were 
necessary  to  save  the  structure.  These  works  have 
been  carried  out  in  a  spirit  of  love  and  devotion — for 
surely  such  sentiments  may  be  kindled  by  such  a  house 
as  this — by  the  present  owner,  Lord  de  L'Isle.  It  is  a 
restoration  in  name  as  well  as  in  fact  which  he  has 
attempted — for  example,  in  one  part  of  the  building 
which  it  was  indispensable  to  take  down,  every  stone 
was  marked  as  it  was  removed,  and  replaced  in  its 
original  position,  under  the  personal  superintendence 
of  Lord  de  L'Isle  himself  and  his  architect,  Mr.  Devey. 
The  floors  were  all  sinking  in,  but  instead  of  removing 
them,  a  new  flooring  was  laid  down,  and  over  that  the 
original  boards  were  carefully  placed.  The  paint  and 
whitewash  of  Queen  Anne's  day,  and  of  some  later 
"  restorers,"  have  also  been  got  rid  of  in  a  great  measure, 
and  the  work  is  still  being  vigorously  pressed  forward. 
The  burden  of  preserving  such  a  house  as  this,  and  of 
meeting  inch  by  inch  the  destructive  inroads  of  time, 
is  one  from  which  many  an  owner  of  a  princely  income 
would  shrink  back  alarmed. 

You  cross  the  old  courtyard,  and  enter  the  Baron's 


270         Field  Paths  and  Green  Lanes,     ch.  xx. 

Hall,  which  tlie  best  authorities  agree  must  have  been 
built  iu  or  about  the  year  1341.  So  little  change  has 
taken  place  in  it  that  the  imagination  can  almost 
revive  the  scenes  which  once  took  place  in  this  famous 
liall — can  place  before  these  old  tables  the  groups  of 
knights  and  retainers  who  once  made  merry  here,  and 
recall  the  great  and  joyful  festivals  of  harvest  home 
and  Christmas,  celebrated  with  the  broad  and  generous 
hospitality  of  five  hundred  years  ago.  The  best  table 
is  still  at  the  upper  end  on  the  dais,  and  on  each  side 
of  the  hall  are  the  tables  for  retainers  and  servants — 
just  as  they  stood  there  when  the  head  of  the  house, 
and  his  family  and  dependants,  assembled  to  take  their 
meals  together.  Around  the  walls  are  pieces  of  arms 
and  armour  belonging  to  the  Sidneys  and  Leicesters, 
and  there  in  the  middle  of  the  floor  is  the  great  iron 
"  doCT  "  on  which  the  fire  was  built — the  open  timber 
roof  above  is  black  with  the  smoke  from  it.  Huge 
fago-ots  and  logs  are  laid  upon  this  dog,  and  the  old 
hall  is  so  much  unchanged,  and  everything  about  it 
speaks  so  eloquently  of  other  days,  that  one  almost 
involuntarily  begins  to  think  that  presently  a  servant 
will  come  and  set  alight  to  that  wood,  and  the  knights 
and  retainers  will  take  their  places  at  the  tables, 
and  the  blooming  Saccharissa  herself  will  perhaps 
appear  with  other  ladies  of  the  family,  and  the  feast 
will  begin.  Standing  there  alone,  in  the  fading  light  of 
an  autumn  afternoon,  the  old  scenes  seem  to  come  back 
and  the  old  actors  return — the  five  hundred  years  are 
as  if  they  had  not  been,  and  one  thinks  in  a  half  doubt- 


CH,  XX,      From  Edenbi'idge  to  Penshiirst.        2  7 1 

ful  way  of  the  many  mighty  changes  which  have  hap- 
pened in  this  land  around  us,  since  the  bricks  of  this 
old  floor  and  the  heavy  timbers  of  yonder  lofty  roof 
were  put  together.  Is  it  a  dream  that  these  vast  events 
have  happened,  or  that  this  old  hall  was  once  filled  with 
gay  revellers  and  lovely  women  and  brave  men  ?  Com- 
pared with  these  slowly  changing  scenes,  what  does  all 
human  existence  seem  but  a  dream  ? 

When  Mr.  William  Howitt  was  here  in  1838,  he 
found,  as  he  tells  us  in  his  interesting  account  of  his 
visit,*  the  huge  carved  corbels  of  the  roof  lying  in  the 
music  gallery,  the  roof  itself  in  danger  of  falling  down, 
and  on  the  outside  some  leaden  vases  and  urns  and 
other  "  monstrosities  "  placed  there  by  a  Mr.  Perry, 
who,  it  seems,  had  married  the  heiress  to  the  family. 
The  "  monstrosities "  have  been  carted  off  into  the 
lumber  yard,  the  roof  has  been  placed  in  a  fair  state 
of  repair,  and  the  grotesque  carvings  or  corbels  have 
been  replaced.  To  make  such  a  roof  as  this  watertight 
would  cost  a  large  sum  of  money — probably  would  be 
all  but  impossible  ;  but  the  brick  floor  can  take  no 
hurt  from  a  little  wet,  and  the  walls  are  sound,  while 
there  is  now  no  danger  of  the  timbers  of  the  roof 
falling.  "  There  is  no  such  roof  to  be  found  out  of 
England,"  says  an  archaeologist,  and  he  adds  that  the 
tables  "  are  among  the  earliest  pieces  of  furniture 
remaining  in  England,"  Lord  de  L'Isle  has  done  a 
good  work  in  putting  this  interesting  part  of  the  old 
house  into  a  condition  which  will,  let  us  hope,  enable 
*  Visits  to  Remarkable  Places,  pp.  1 — 49. 


272         Field  Paths  and  Green  Lanes,     ch.  xx. 

it  to  resist  wind  and  weather  for  the  other  half  of  the 
thousand  years. 

I  cannot  attemjit  to  play  the  part  of  guide  to  this 
house,  or  to  describe  the  numerous  portraits  and  paint- 
ings or  curiosities  which  are  treasured  up  Avithin  it. 
That  is  a  work  which  has  often  been  undertaken,  and 
for  the  traveller  it  cannot  be  more  conveniently  -^qx- 
formed  than  it  is  in  Murray's  " Handbook "  for  Kent.  The 
portraits  have  recently  been  arranged  in  chronological 
order,  and  have  been  very  carefully  cleaned  and  hung 
in  a  good  light.  No  visitor  to  Penshurst  will  forget 
the  portraits  of  the  Sidney  family,  especially  those 
of  Algernon  and  Sir  Piiilii^  Sidney,  and  of  Waller's 
"  Saccharissa," — the  last  appearing  in  this  canvas  as  a 
bouncing  and  buxom  lass,  such  as  poets  are,  notwith- 
standing their  sentiment  and  romance,  very  apt  to 
fall  in  love  with.  Nor  can  one  forget  Kneller's  portrait 
of  William  "  the  Deliverer,"  with  his  long,  grave, 
dyspeptic  face  ;  or  Holbein's  portrait  of  Edwai'd  the 
Sixth  (who  gave  Penshurst  to  the  Sidneys),  with  the 
tinge  of  red  in  his  hair,  his  pale  countenance,  and 
small  dark  eyes  ;  or  the  portrait  of  Lady  Jane  Grey, 
sweet  and  amiable,  a  great  contrast  to  the  cross- 
grained,  vixenish  features  of  Mary,  whose  picture  hangs 
beneath.  On  the  sofa  in  Queen  Elizabeth's  room  I 
noticed  a  broken  mandolin,  looking  as  if  some  one 
had  just  injured  it  and  laid  it  there.  I  asked  the 
housekeeper  about  it,  and  she  told  me  that  it  had 
belonged  to  Sir  Philip  Sidney's  mother.  It  seemed  as 
if  it  might  have  been  lying  in  the  same  place  ever 


en.  XX.      From  Edenbridge  to  Penshurst.    .    273 

since  that  worthy  lady  finished  playing  her  last  tune 
upon  it.  Then  we  have  that  curious  painting  by  Lely 
of  Nell  Gwynne,  in  which  ample  opportunity  is  afforded 
us  of  knowing  what  manner  of  woman,  physically,  was 
this  particular  favourite  of  "  merry  "  King  Charles,  and 
a  very  singular  picture  representing  Queen  Elizabeth 
dancing  at  Kenilworth  with  the  Earl  of  Leicester.  As 
for  the  curiosities,  there  are  the  riding  boots  of 
Algernon  Sidney  in  the  long  gallery,  a  piece  of  the 
shaving  glass  of  Sir  Philip  Sidney,  some  wonderful 
cabinets  of  most  elaborate  workmanship,  locks  of  the 
hair  of  many  Sidneys  and  Leicesters,  all  recently 
gathered  into  one  large  glass  case  ;  a  table  inlaid  with 
tortoise-shell  on  silver,  and  another  table  (intended  for 
whist)  with  the  cover  most  beautifully  executed  in 
needlework;  a  collection  of. family  miniatures,  exqui- 
sitely painted,  and  much  more  that  it  would  take 
almost  a  volume  to  set  forth.  Many  of  these  objects 
are  in  the  private  apartments,  which  are  sometimes 
shown  to  visitors  of  the  more  quiet  description.  The 
rooms  now  used  are  very  tastefully  fitted  up,  the  tone 
and  style  of  the  old  house  being  carefully  studied  in  all 
details.  The  library  is  essentially  a  room  for  use  and 
comfort,  not  too  large,  and  with  a  glorious  alcove 
window  in  it,  as  many  other  of  the  rooms  have — deep, 
snug,  offeiing  great  facilities  to  the  young  for  mild 
flirtations,  and  beckoning  the  elder  folk  to  step  aside 
and  meditate  ;  overlooking,  moreover,  portions  of  the 
venerable  pile  outside  and  charming  vistas  of  the  park. 

The  best  books  in  the  collection  once  at  Penshurst,  and 
13 


2  74         Field  Pat  lis  and  Green  Lanes,      ch.  xx. 

the  most  valuable  of  the  Sidney  MSS.,  were  carried  off 
by  the  active-minded  Mr.  Ireland,  whose  Shakespeare 
forgeries  also  give  him  some  claim  to  be  remembered. 
Ireland  was  on  good  terms  with  some  member  of  the 
family,  and  had  the  "  run  of  the  house,"  and  improved 
his  opportunities  by  pillaging  it  as  freely  as  one  of 
Cromwell's  soldiers  could  have  done. 

Most  visitors  to  the  park  have  dwelt  much  upon  its 
neglected  appearance,  and  Walpole's  sneer  has  often 
been  quoted  :  "  The  park  is  forlorn ;  instead  of  Sac- 
charissa's  cipher  carved  on  the  beeches,  I  should  sooner 
have  expected  to  have  found  the  milk-woman's  score." 
Mr.  Howitt  speaks  of  the  "silent  park,"  and  of  "its 
grass-grown  pleasance  and  its  grey  walls."  Walpole's 
remark  seems  a  harsh  one,  but  undoubtedly  there  is 
something  even  now  about  the  park  which  suggests 
nearly  what  must  have  been  in  his  thoughts.  I 
wandered  for  some  hours  over  it,  and  the  walk  pro- 
duced a  melancholy  effect  upon  the  mind,  for  every- 
thing has  a  deserted  and  mournful  air.  The  rabbits 
have  made  large  mounds  all  over  the  park,  and  it  is 
necessary  to  look  carefully  to  one's  steps  to  avoid 
falling  into  their  holes,  which  in  some  places  resemble 
long  tunnels  for  water-pipes.  Moreover,  the  grass  is 
not  grass,  if  one  may  so  speak,  but  heavy  coarse  fern 
and  bramble,  which  you  must  go  far  out  of  your  way  to 
avoid,  for  in  some  places  it  is  so  thick  as  to  be  almost 
impassable.  It  does  not  look  like  a  park,  but  like  a 
very  wild  common  or  some  half-forgotten  wilderness, 
and    this    appearance    is    heightened   by  the   gloomy 


CH.  XX. 


From  Edenbridge  to  Peiishurst.        275 


spectfe  which  now  and  then  confronts  you  of  a  dead 
tree,  without  bark  or  leaf  upon  it,  struck  perhaps  by 
Ughtning  or  dead  of  mere  old  age,  and  now  seeming 
pitifully  to  beseech  one  to  take  it  away.  Are  these 
utterly  dead  trees  never  cut  down  in  this  park  ?  Cer- 
tain it  is  that  they  are  numerous,  and  present  a  most 
sorrowful  aspect. 

But  the  park  is  by  no  means  neglected,  for  the 
beautiful  avenue  of  limes  leading  eastwards  from 
the  house  has  been  continued  northwards  by  the  plant- 
ing of  some  hundreds  of  young  trees.  The  original 
avenue  must  be  very  old,  and  there  are  still  some 
splendid  oak  and  ash  trees  remaining  in  it,  their 
3"0unger  brethren,  which  have  been  put  down  at  their 
side  to  fill  up  the  gaps,  looking  as  if  they  meant  to  do 
credit  to  their  training  and  associations.  By  following 
the  limes  eastwards  from  the  house,  and  then  turning 
through  a  gate  to  the  left  about  halfway  down,  this 
northerly  avenue  is  reached,  and  goes  for  nearly 
two  miles  to  Leigh.  I  followed  it  almost  to  the 
end,  and  then  struck  off  to  examine  a  thick  clump  of 
trees  not  far  off.  Was  this  Gamage's  Bower  ?  About 
half  a  mile  or  so  up  the  avenue  is  the  venerable  tree 
known  as  Sidney's  Oak,  now  protected  by  a  railing.  It 
has  evidently  suffered  much  since  the  sketch  of  it  was 
taken  for  Howitt's  "  Visits  to  Remarkable  Places  "  (I., 
13) — its  top  is  almost  entirely  gone,  and  large  branches 
have  been  battered  off  or  mutilated.  But  its  girth  is 
still  gi'eat,  and  its  limbs  are  gigantic.  It  is  a  true 
monarch  of  the  woods,  grand  and  majestic  even  in  its 


276         Field  Paths  and  Green  Lanes.      cii.  xx. 

decrepitude,  and  sturdily  opposing  itself  to  the  strokes 
of  lightning  and  the  heavy  shocks  of  winter's  gales.  It 
recalls  the  description  by  Virgil  of  the  oak,  so  happily 
imitated  by  La  Fontaine  : — 

"  Celui  de  qui  la  tcte  au  ciel  etait  voisine, 
Et  (lont  les  picds  touchaient  a  I'cmpire  des  morts." 

Foliage  still  covers  its  trunk  and  branches,  but  its 
shattered  head  is  crowned  only  with  the  "  monumental 
pomp  of  age."  Not  far  northward  of  this  venerable 
tree  there  is  a  grand  Spanish  chestnut,  with  one  huge 
branch  lying  prone  upon  the  ground,  and  its  trunk 
bearing  marks  of  its  great  age.  Hard  by  that  is  a 
yew,  growing  unusually  straight,  not  particularly  large, 
but  unquestionably  very  old.  Proceeding  still  further 
northward,  and  returning  to  the  avenue,  some  magnifi- 
cent beeches  come  in  sight — beautiful  trees  still, 
though  far  advanced  in  years.  One  is  a  mere  wreck, 
and  others  are  fast  going  to  decay.  These  beeches  are 
the  remains  of  " Saccharissa's  Walk,"  "lofty  beeches" 
still,  but  gradually  going  the  road  which  Saccharissa 
and  her  love-sick  poet  travelled  long  ago. 

The  visitor  who  strolls  to  this  part  of  the  park  will 
find  himself  well  rewarded.  To  the  eastward  he  will 
obtain  a  fine  view  over  Tunbridge  and  the  distant 
country',  and  if  he  looks  to  the  south  his  eye  will  rest 
upon  the  weather-beaten  roof  of  the  Baron's  Hall,  the 
ivy-clad  walls  beneath  it,  the  tempest-smitten  trees 
and  lonely  park,  and  the  purple  slopes  of  the  South 
Downs,  which  form  a  noble  background  to  the  "  home 
of  the  Sidneys." 


CHAPTER    XXI. 

THE    WYE    FROM    ROSS    TO    CHEPSTOW. 

The  "Lion"  of  Koss. — The  Wye.  —  Goodrich  Castle. — Gilpin's 
"Analysis"  of  the  Wye. — From  Goodrich  to  Monmouth. — The 
"Kymin"and  Buckstone. — The  Bachelor  of  Stanton. — A  Re- 
turned Indian. — The  Railroad. — From  Monmouth  to  Chepstow. 
— Encroachments  on  Tintern. — The  Wyndcliffe. — What  is  good 
for  Rheumatism  ? — Our  Beautiful  Inns. 

There  is  nothing  much  more  curious  at  Ross,  not 
even  exceptiog  its  ancient  buildings,  than  the  tree,  or 
double  tree,  which  grows  inside  the  church,  on  tile  spot 
where  of  old  the  pew  of  the  "  Man  of  Ross  "  was  placed. 
Formerly  a  tree  grew  just  outside  the  church  Avindow, 
but  although  it  was  planted  by  John  Kyrle  himself, 
the  rector  sacrilegiously  cut  it  down,  and  what  hap- 
pened ?  The  tree  made  itself  into  two,  and  grew 
inside  his  church  instead  of  outside — thus  a  double 
visitation  of  wrath  fell  upon  him.  The  old  pews  are 
gone,  but  a  couple  of  elm  trees  still  grow  within  the 
church,  close  to  a  window.  When  I  saw  them  in 
August,  1876',  they  had  a  wan  and  sickly  appearance — 
the  foliage  on  them  was  very  slight,  and  of  a  light  and 
delicate  shade  of  green.  "  It's  the  hot  weather,"  said 
the  woman  who  had  the  keys ;  "  they  don't  look  so  well 


2/8  Field  Pat  lis  and  Gran  Lanes,     oh.  xxi. 

as  they  generally  do.  Tiic  sun  strikes  upon  them  from 
the  window,  and  the  ground  is  all  haked  and  hard 
outside."  Certainly  the  poor  trees  had  a  languid 
aspect,  reminding  one  of  that  saddest  of  all  sad  siglits, 
a  fair  young  girl  in  a  decline.  They  are  about  four 
inches  in  diameter,  and  the  tops  are  frequently  cut  to 
prevent  them  striking  against  the  roof. 

There  are  more  roads  than  one  to  Monmouth,  but 
the  best  is  that  which  goes  past  the  Royal  Hotel,  and 
over  Wilton  Bridge,  and  enables  the  traveller  to  take 
in  Goodrich  Castle  or  Symond's  Yat  on  his  way.  Of 
Wilton  Castle,  which  dates  back  to  the  year  1141, 
little  but  a  few  shapeless  stones  remain,  but  the  bridge 
over  the  Wye  still  forms  a  picturesque  featm-e  in  the 
landscape.  Beyond  the  small  village,  the  road  to  the 
left  must  be  taken,  and  very  soon  the  Wye  makes  its 
appearance,  running  amid  green  meadows,  with  beauti- 
fully wooded  hills  and  soft  pastoral  scenery  beyond. 
Sometimes  it  flows  nearly  to  the  road,  rippling  along 
over  the  stones  with  a  cool  and  refreshing  sound — at 
others  it  wanders  far  off,  or  completely  disappears  from 
view.  Presently  the  ruins  of  Goodrich  Castle  are  seen 
in  the  distance,  with  the  modern  house  called  Goodrich 
Court  nearly  opposite,  and  the  river  apparently  running 
between.  In  reality,  they  are  divided  by  a  dingle.  Then 
the  road  ascends,  and  we  pass  an  old  farm  on  the  right 
hand,  and  just  beyond  it  a  private  park  studded  with 
fine  elm  trees,  and  soon  we  come  to  a  street  of  cottages, 
with  a  meetinjij  house  and  a  blacksmith's  for<?e.  This 
is  the  vilWe  of  Pencraicr.     At  the  foot  of  it  a  road 


■ll 

Q 

2 

W 

o 

s 

o 

a: 

b 

s 

5: 

,j     0! 


cir.  XXI.    The   Wye  from  Ross  to  Chepstow.     2  79 

turns  suddenly  to  the  left,  and  a  walk  of  a  mile  and  a 
half  further  will  bring  the  traveller  to  Goodrich. 

The  castle  is  not  so  beautiful  a  ruin  as  Raglan, 
but  it  stands  on  a  far  more  commanding  position  than 
the  home  of  the  brave  old  Marquis  of  Worcester,  and 
consequently  it  affords  an  enchanting  view  of  a  long 
stretch  of  the  valley  of  the  Wye.  The  glimjDses  of 
scenery  which  may  be  caught  through  the  broken  and 
crumbling  windows  of  the  castle  surpass  all  that  poet 
or  painter  has  placed  before  us.  No  wonder  that  Good- 
rich satisfied  even  the  learned  Prebendary  of  Salisbury, 
the  Rev.  William  Gilpin,  who,  altliough  a  true  lover  of 
nature,  was  a  little  too  much  inclined  to  measure 
everything  by  rule  and  line.  His  "  Observations  on 
the  River  Wye"  might  unfavourably  prejudice  a  reader 
who  had  not  yet  been  charmed  with  the  much  more 
genial  work  on  "  Forest  Scenery."  Take,  for  instance, 
his  "analysis"  of  the  "sylvan  Wye": — "The  most 
perfect  river-views,  thus  circumstanced,  are  composed 
of  four  grand  parts ;  the  area,  which  is  the  river 
itself ;  the  two  side-screens,  which  are  the  opposite 
banks,  and  mark  the  perspective ;  and  the  front- 
screen,  which  points  out  the  winding  of  the  river." 
He  then  proceeds  with  the  details  of  his  analysis, 
thus  :  "  The  oriiainents  of  the  Wye  may  be  ranged 
under  four  heads — ground — ivood — rochs — and  build- 
ings." Perhaps  the  Wye  is  not  the  only  river  which 
can  boast  of  the  same  ornaments.  With  Goodrich, 
however,  Mr.  Gilpin  was  quite  content.  "  This  view," 
he  says,  "  which  is  one  of  the  grandest  on  the  river,  I 


2 So         Field  Paths  and  Green  Lanes,     ch.  xxi. 

should  not  scruple  to  call  correctly  picturesque ;  which 
is  seldom  the  character  of  a  purely  natural  scene."  He 
complains  elsewhere  that  Nature  is  "  seldom  correct  in 
composition,"  It  must  be  admitted,  however,  that  the 
author's  own  taste  was  not  always  faultless,  or  he  would 
not  have  preferred  those  rude  and  hideously  coloured 
illustrations  of  his  to  what  he  calls  the  "  unpleasant 
opposition  of  black  and  white." 

In  pursuing  the  journey  to  Monmouth,  we  have  to 
leave  Goodrich  church  on  the  right,  and  the  wood,  called 
by  the  folks  hereabouts  the  "coppice"  or  "coppage" 
(properly,  copped),  to  the  left.  It  is  a  hard  walk  from 
here  to  Monmouth — six  up-hill,  tough,  and  dusty  miles. 
Yet  the  road  has  beauties  enough  to  show  to  reward 
tlic  man  who  can  truly  say  that  he  belongs  to  the 
brotherhood  of  Walkers,  even  if  he  cannot  quite 
comply  Avith  the  exacting  conditions  laid  down  by 
Thoreau  :  "  If  you  are  ready  to  leave  father  and 
mother,  and  brother  and  sister,  and  wife  and  child  and 
friends,  and  never  see  them  again ;  if  you  have  paid 
your  debts,  and  made  your  will,  and  settled  all  your 
affairs,  and  are  a  free  man,  then  you  are  ready  for  a 
walk."  Soon  after  you  have  passed  a  lodge  with  a 
cross  over  it — which  is  the  entrance  to  Judge  Herbert's 
house,  the  "Rocklands" — you  will  come  to  a  spring  by 
the  road-side,  Nature's  own  gift  to  the  tired  wayfarer. 
Pass  it  not  unregarded,  0  thirsty  walker  !  Never  was 
there  such  cool  and  delicious  water  ;  not  all  the  cham- 
pagne of  France  is  to  be  compared  with  it.  Now  the 
"copped"  hill  is  at  our  back,  and  the  Great  and  Little 


CH.  XM.     TJie   Wye  Jroin  Ross  to  Chepstow.     281 

Dowards  in  front,  and  all  the  country  has  a  stern  and 
wild  aspect,  for  we  are  approaching  the  border  land  of 
Wales.  Ere  long  we  reach  the  secluded  village  of  Whit- 
church, with  its  old-fashioned  "  Crown "  Inn  standing 
all  across  it.  To  the  traveller  approaching  it  from 
the  other  direction,  the  road  seems  to  be  suddenly 
swallowed  up  in  the  inn.  A  peaceful  village,  where,  if 
anywhere,  a  man  might  spend  his  days, 

"  Free  from  the  sick  fatigue,  the  hinguid  doubt, 
Which  much  to  have  tried,  in  much  been  baffled,  brings." 

It  was  dark  before  I  arrived  at  Monmouth.  Shadows 
crept  gradually  over  the  lovely  country  ;  the  trees  threw 
deeper  darkness  upon  the  road,  the  stars  were  hidden, 
the  very  path  was  difficult  to  find.  Suddenly  from  a 
thick  wood,  a  black  mass  climbing  high  above  the  road, 
a  mournful  and  boding  cry  fell  upon  the  ear : 

"  It  was  the  owl  that  shrieked,  the  fatal  bellman 
Which  gives  the  stenvst  good  night." 

At  last  the  twinkling  lights  of  the  old  town  came  in 
sight,  the  town  where  'Henry  the  Fifth  was  born,  as 
that  thorough  Welshman,  Captain  Fluellen,  is  careful 
to  remind  him  :  "All  the  water  in  Wye  cannot  wash 
your  Majesty's  Welsh  blood  out  of  your  bod}^  I  can  tell 
you  that." 

And  a  charming  town  it  is,  to  my  mind,  with  its 
ancient  bridge  over  the  Monnow,  its  two  o.r  three  old 
churches,  its  pleasant  market  place,  its  civil  and  homely 
people, — more  Welsh  than  English  in  their  blood — 
and  the  glorious  scenery  which  surrounds  it.     A  dozen 


282         Field  Paths  and  Green  Lanes.     <  n.  xx/. 

years  and  more  had  passed  since  last  I  trod  its  streets, 
years  of  much  wandering  in  distant  lands  ;  but  I  re- 
membered ev^ery  nook  and  corner  of  them,  and  half 
involuntarily  looked  round  for  the  faces  which  once 
brightened  them,  now  "  painted  as  on  the  azure  of 
eternity."  In  these  old  inland  towns,  nothing  changes 
but  human  life.  Every  house,  every  street  remains  the 
same — it  is  only  when  we  look  for  the  friends  that  are 
gone  that  the  dread  work  of  Time  strikes  upon  the 
heart. 

If  you  go  across  Wye  bridge,  and  up  the  narrow  path 
which  runs  by  the  side  of  the  road  as  you  turn  to  the 
left,  you  will  find  yourself  brought  in  due  season  to  a 
wood.  Through  that,  amidst  plentiful  green  and  shade, 
the  traveller  may  find  his  way  to  the  very  summit 
of  the  hill  called  the  "Kymin" — following  the  well- 
marked  path  till  he  comes  to  a  gate  which  shuts  it  off, 
and  then  turning  to  the  right.  There  is  a  shorter  road, 
just  outside  the  wood,  but  it  is  full  of  rough  stones  and 
glare  and  all  manner  of  evils.  The  wood  is  delightful 
— full  of  young  birch  and  elm,  and  hazel-nut  tree  and 
mountain  ash,  the  last  of  which  keeps  its  old  names 
among  the  Monmouth.shirc  folk  of  the  "quicken"  or 
"service"  tree.  There  are  still  many  "benighted" 
persons  in  this  county  and  in  Wales  who  regard  the 
"Rowan"  or  "Witchen"  tree  as  a  potent  spell  against 
the  evil-eye.  Evelyn  assures  us  that  ale  and  beer  made 
out  of  its  berries  "is  an  incomparable  drink,  familiar  in 
Wales,"  but  it  never  fell  to  my  lot  to  be  offered  a 
glass  of  the  wizard-drink,  and  I  think  most  Welshmen 


CH.  XXI.    The  Wye  from  Ross  to  Chepstow.     283 

of  the  present  day  would  prefer  a  glass  of  old-fashioned 
ale,  they  being  an  honest  and  simple  sort  of  folk. 

Frona  the  top  of  the  Kymin  the  eye  wanders  over 
the  Wye  and  the  town  to  the  Siigarloaf  mountain  at 
Abergavenny,  and  to  the  Black  Mountains  of  Breconshire, 
and  over  the  Forest  of  Dean.  There  is  a  mean  little 
shed  here,  put  up  in  the  first  year  of  this  century,  and 
then  called  a  "  Temple."  "  The  frieze,"  says  Murray, 
"is  decorated  with  medallions  of  British  admirals,"  and 
I  remember  them  well — coarse,  common,  in  all  respects 
abominable  ;  yet  the  admiration  of  simple  Evan  Evans 
and  Morgan  Jones  and  their  lasses,  who  often  came  up 
from  below  with  picnic  parties.  Now  frieze  and  medal- 
lions have  all  but  disappeared,  and  the  "Temple"  itself 
is  a  disreputable-looking  ruin.  In  the  south-east,  that 
curious  rocking  stone,  the  "Buckstone,"  can  be  dis- 
cerned, and  there  is  a  path  from  the  Kymin  to  it, 
chiefly  through  woods  or  across  fields.  You  pass  a 
little  inn  called  the  "Duke  of  York"  on  the  way,  and 
then  reach  the  turnpike  road,  from  whence  a  narrow 
track  runs  up  the  hill-side.  Follow  this  track  till  you 
reach  a  gate,  climb  over,  leave  the  ruins  of  a  sheep-cote 
or  small  cottage  to  your  right,  and  presently  you  will 
emerge  upon  Stanton  Common— a  common,  take  it  all 
in  all,  without  an  equal,  standing  high  above  the  high 
hills  which  are  near  to  it,  and  looking  far  over  the 
Black  Mountains  and  the  Forest  of  Dean.  The  home- 
like village  and  church  of  Stanton  are  just  below. 
The  site  of  the  Buckstone  is  marked  by  a  small  flag- 
staff— a   stone   weighing   hundreds    of    tons,  and   yet 


284         Field  Paths  and  Green  Lanes.,    ch.  xxi, 

poised  upon  a  piece  of  rock  scarcely  two  feet  broad, 
like  a  huge  top  standing  upon  its  peg.  The  hill  runs 
down  a  thousand  feet  sheer  below  it,  and  the  stone 
inclines  over  at  an  acute  angle,  and  can  be  rocked  by  a 
stronsf  man.  An  old  fellow,  whom  I  overtook  on  the 
common,  told  me  that  the  frohcsome  youth  of  Stanton 
had  one  night  come  up  here  armed  with  "  picks  "  and 
crowbars,  but  could  not  move  it.  "  It  is  considered," 
this  old  man  explained  to  me,  "  as  it  was  washed  there 
when  the  world  was  drownded,"  My  friend  was  scarcely 
less  worthy  of  attention  than  the  stone.  He  was  a  very 
ugly  little  old  man,  with  staring  eyes,  and  great  front 
teeth,  like  a  picture  of  a  gnome.  He  told  me  that 
he  kept  some  "  ship "  (sheep)  out  at  gi-ass  near  Mon- 
mouth ;  they  had  the  tick,  and  he  had  been  to  see 
them.  "There's  alius  summat  wrong!"  said  he  ;  "if  it 
aint  the  tick  it's  summat  else." 

"Are  you  married?"  I  asked. 

"  Not  I,"  said  this  scarecrow,  with  a  hideous  smile ; 
"  don't  1  live  as  I've  a  mind  to  ?  Could  I  do  that  if  I 
was  married  ?  Sometimes  I  have  thought  of  taking  a 
missis,  but  there  never  was  a  conweniency  Avithout  an 
ill-conwenicncy,  and  so  I  don't  do  it." 

"  But  have  you  ever  had  a  fair  chance  ? " 

"  Chance  ! "  said  he,  stopping  short  in  astonishment, 
"  why  lots  of  women  have  been  after  me.  They  come 
in  offering  to  help  clean  up  my  cottage,  but  1  know 
what  they're  after.  They're  after  me.  I  can't  abear 
them,  but  they  inll  come.  Would  you  get  married  if 
you  were  me?"     I  pondered  this  question  very  seriously 


CH.  XXI.    The  Wye  fi'om  Ross  to  Chepstow.     285 

in  my  mind,  and  replied  in  tlie  Socratic  manner,  by 
assuring  him  that  whichever  course  he  took  he  would 
be  sure  eventually  to  wish  he  had  taken  the  other,  "I 
can  cook  my  own  food,  and  clean  my  own  things — what 
do  I  want  w  ith  a  missis  ? "  ' 

"  Good-bye,"  said  I ;  "  you  are  a  wiser  man  than  some 
people  I  know ;  mind  you  cure  your  ship  of  the  tick 
before  you  get  a  missis." 

How  white  are  the  streets  of  Stanton,  how  grey  its 
houses  ! — and  then  there  is  that  charming  old  church, 
with  the  remains  of  an  ancient  cross  just  outside  the 
gates,  and  the  old  font  inside,  of  which  Murray  says, 
that  it  was  "  apparently  fashioned  out  of  a  Roman 
altar."  All  is  so  clean  and  calm  and  venerable  in 
appearance  that  one  is  reluctant  to  go  on  any  further. 
And,  in  truth,  the  people  whose  lot  is  cast  here  seem 
to  be  unwilling  to  change  it :  there  is  an  old  farm 
below  the  church  in  which  the  worthy  farmer  has  lived 
for  upwards  of  half  a  century  ;  and  in  the  churchyard — 
a  friendly  churchyard,  where  the  last  shelter  of  our 
mother  earth  ought  rather  to  be  called  a  bed  among 
violets  and  roses  than  a  grave — I  noticed  a  tombstone 
to  the  memory  of  Alexander  Gibbon  aged  91,  his  wife 
aged  96,  a  daughter  aged  19,  another  daughter  aged  55, 
and  "  Sarah  Foster,  their  faithful  servant  for  sixty-four 
years,  aged  87."  Close  by  the  church  there  is  a  vicarage 
overlooking  a  wide  and  varied  landscape,  and  an  easily 
discovered  path  leads  to  a  point  called  the  "Double 
View  " — a  scene  which  must  not  be  passed  unnoticed. 
The  Wye  can  scarcely  be  discovered  in    more  lovely 


286         Field  Paths  and  Green  Lanes,     cn.  xxi. 

guise.  The  return  to  Monraoutli  bad  better  be  made 
by  the  turnpike  road  until  you  come  to  the  "  Duke  of 
York  "  Inn,  from  whence  the  path  through  the  wood 
may  be  taken  as  before. 

This  little  house  is  a  very  good  example  of  the 
Monmoutljshire  hostelry — very  plain,  but  not  uncom- 
fortable. When  I  Avas  there  last  August,  I  found  the 
innkeeper  and  his  wife,  an  old  and  worthy  couple,  busily 
engaged  in  preparing  their  dinner.  The  old  man 
asked  me  to  join  them  :  "  We  can  only  offer  you  a 
piece  of  bacon,  some  peas,  and  new  potatoes,"  said 
he,  "but  such  as  they  are  you  are  freely  welcome." 
But  who  can  dine  at  noon  save  a  true  countryman  ? 
I  contented  myself  with  my  ale  and  a  talk.  "  I  never 
want  to  go  far  from  this  part  again,"  said  the  old  man  ; 
"  there's  no  place  like  England." 

"  Have  you  ever  been  far  away  ?  "  said  I. 

"Why,  yes,  indeed,  sir;  I  was  round  the  Cape  to 
India  and  back,  and  glad  enough  am  I  to  be  here." 

"  Now  don't  begin  to  talk  about  India,"  said  his  wife, 
"  nobody  wants  to  hear  about  it."  Why,  thought  I,  this 
old  fellow  is  no  more  allowed  to  talk  about  his  Indian 
experiences  than  tbe  Governor  of  a  Presidency  at  a 
London  dinner  party. 

"  Do  you  think  it  is  as  hot  here  as  there,  sir?"  con- 
tinued the  landlord,  when  he  had  recovered  his  spirits 
a  little,  and  disregarding  the  words  and  gestures  of  his 
wife.  I  told  him  I  was  quite  sure  it  was  not.  "  So  I 
tells  'em,"  he  cried  out  in  glee,  "  so  I  tells  'em,  but 
they  only  laugh  at  me.     Yes,  indeed.     When  I  tells 


cH.  XXI.    The  Wye  from  Ross  to  Chepstow.     287 

'em  as  I  have  seen  a  dozen  men  die  of  cliolery  in  one 
day,  they  don't  believe  a  word  I  say." 

"  Well,  I  believe  you."  said  I ;  "  you  are  not  saying  a 
word  that  is  not  true." 

"Why,  theer  now,"  said  the  old  man  triumphantly  to 
his  wife,  "  when  /  tells  'era  about  the  East  Ingies,  they 

go  away  and  say,  '  that  old  Jenkins  be  a  d leear, 

so  I  draj)  it.     Yes,  sure." 

How  many  burra-sahibs  have  I  seen  in  England  who 
were  treated,  much  to  their  surprise,  with  just  as  little 
consideration  as  poor  old  Jenkins  of  the  "  Duke  of 
York."  He  had  been  a  soldier  in  the  32nd  Regiment, 
and  showed  me  several  relics  of  his  army  days.  I  hope 
that  if  these  pages  meet  the  eye  of  any  of  his  customers 
they  will  desist  from  denouncing  him  as  a  "  leear " 
when  he  spins  them  a  yarn  about  the  Ingies.  English- 
men pretend  to  be  very  proud  of  India,  and  yet  never 
hear  its  name  mentioned  without  a  yawn. 

If  the  pedestrian  chooses  to  go  from  Monmouth  to 
Raglan  Castle  or  Symonds  Yat — and  neither  ought  to 
be  missed — the  roads  are  good  and  full  of  interest ;  or 
he  may  pass  through  Stanton  to  the  still  wild  and 
romantic  Forest  of  Dean,  Avith  its  mining  villages, 
and  its  foresters,  with  their  ways  and  manners  which 
have  been  little  affected  by  the  great  tide  of  our 
wonderful  civilisation. 

They  have  made  a  railroad  through  the  valley  of  the 
Wye,  even  through  that  lovely  part  of  it  -which  extends 
from  Monmouth  to  Chepstow.  Was  this,  also,  one  of 
the  "urgent  necessities"  of  the  age?     Already  there 


288         Field  Paths  and  Green  Lanes,     cii.  xxi. 

were  throe  ways  of  passing  from  one  town  to  the  other, 
and  all  good — by  boat,  carriage,  or  on  foot.  Were 
they  not  enough  ?  The  wise  tourist  will  leave  the  iron 
horse  to  the  bagman  and  his  parcels,  and  will  still  tramp 
his  way  along  this  gem  of  a  valley  on  foot,  noticing  as 
he  goes  that  the  railroad,  with  all  its  precious  freight, 
is  obliged  to  plunge  into  great  holes  in  the  earth  and 
rock  at  intervals,  and  be  swallowed  out  of  sight.  And 
a  very  good  thing  too. 

From  Monmouth  to  Chepstow  it  is  a  walk  of  sixteen 
miles.  For  five  miles  or  so  the  river  flows  to  the  right 
hand,  becoming  more  beautiful  at  every  movement  ere 
it  is  lost  in  the  Severn.  Then  a  bridge  is  crossed,  and 
we  arrive  at  the  village  of  St.  Briavel's,  which  can  still 
boast  of  its  ancient  castle.  Two  miles  further  on  is 
Llandogo,  lying  at  the  foot  of  richly  wooded  hills,  and 
with  a  pretty  little  church  standing  close  by  the  river. 
Cottages  are  dotted  among  the  woods  just  as  Words- 
worth described  them: — 

" Pastoral  lunns. 


Green  to  the  very  doors,  and  wreaths  of  smoke 
Sent  u}),  in  silence,  from  among  the  trees." 

The  river  here  begins  to  assume  a  yellower  hue,  like 
that  of  the  "  sandy -bottomed  Severn"  to  which  it  is 
fast  approaching.  It  still  keeps  a  very  devious  course, 
sometimes  running  far  away  from  the  road,  sometimes 
looking  as  if  at  a  short  distance  it  went  quite  across  it 
and  cut  it  off.  A  few  sloops  or  other  light  craft  also 
begin  to  make  their  apj^earance — generally  stuck  high 
and  dry  in  the  mud.    It  is  not  impossible  that  an  active 


CH.  XXI.    The   Wye  from  Ross  to  Chepstoiv.     289 

trade  may  yet  grow  up  between  this  part  of  the  valley 
and  the  Severn  ports.  At  Brockweir  the  people  are  of 
a  pushing  and  enterprising  character,  and  have  already 
opened  up  for  themselves  a  thriving  business  with 
Bristol.  Some  day  a  large  town  may  grow  up  here, 
for  the  Brockweir  hoops  are  already  sought  for  eagerly 
in  the  markets.  Nearer  still  to  Tintern  there  are 
greater  signs  of  life  and  activity  than  there  used  to  be 
— a  new  bridge  with  a  tramway,  black  and  smoky 
works,  abundance  of  soot,  blacks,  dirt,  fuss,  and  noise. 
Then  come  a  heap  of  ugly  little  cottages,  higgledy- 
piggledy,  several  public-houses  or  beer-shops  (the  ever 
present  curse  of  all  this  fah'  land),  one  very  neat  and  cosy 
inn,  called  the  "  Boyal  George,"  and  then  Tintern  Abbey, 
desecrated  by  its  surroundings.  It  has  endured  great 
wrongs  during  the  last  few  years.  Tea-gardens,  beer- 
shops,  and  wretched  cabins  press  close  up  to  it,  and  a 
gang  of  beggars  waylay  the  visitor  on  the  road  or 
besiege  the  gates.  The  ruin  itself  is  well  cared  for, 
but  the  neighbourhood  does  its  best  to  degrade  it  to  the 
level  of  a  suburban  show.  The  visitors  appear  to  be 
more  numerous  than  ever ;  and  yet  I  remember,  nearly 
fifteen  years  ago,  going  there  one  moonlight  night  to 
have  a  quiet  look  at  the  Abbey,  and  finding  upwards 
of  eight  hundred  persons  enjoying  themselves  within 
the  beautiful  wtills.  Bottles  were  popping  off  in  all 
directions,  and  the  grass  was  white  with  the  paper 
in  which  what  the  people  called  "the  grub"  had  been 
packed  up.  It  is  rare,  however,  to  fall  in  with  such 
a  drove  as  this,  except  during  the  full  moon  in  Sep- 


290         Fic/d  Paths  and  Green  Lanes,     en.  xxi. 

tember — popularly  known  as  the  harvest  moon — when 
Swansea,  Cardiff,  Newport,  and  Bristol,  send  thousands 
to  see  the  venerable  Abbey. 

Gilpin,  whose  criticisms  upon  the  W^^e  it  is  hard  to 
read  with  respect,  calls  Tintern  "  ill-shaped,"  and  says 
of  it,  "  a  number  of  gable  ends  hurt  the  eye  with  their 
regularity,  and  disgust  it  by  the  vulgarity  of  their  shape." 
He  recommends  knocking  some  of  them  off  with  a 
mallet,  '■'  particularly  those  of  the  cross  aisles,  which 
are  both  disagreeable  in  themselves,  and  confound  the 
perspective."  Few  who  look  at  it  from  road  or  river, 
and  mark  its  exquisite  proportions,  its  glorious  east 
window,  its  calm  and  queenly  beauty,  will  feel  inclined 
to  receive  this  criticism  with  patience.  Rather  will 
they  think  with  Whateley  that  Tiotern  "  suggests  every 
idea  wliich  can  occur  in  a  seat  of  devotion,  solitude 
and  desolation." 

Just  before  reaching  the  Abbey,  the  railroad  is 
fortunately  obliged  to  betake  itself  to  a  tunnel,  in 
which  it  remains  for  some  little,  distance,  so  that  trains 
and  "  tracks  "  do  not  litter  up  the  scenery  directly  in 
front  of  the  ruin.  But  it  has  done  much  to  spoil  the 
banks  a  little  further  on — those  banks  which  used 
to  be  an  unbroken  mass  of  green  from  the  summit  to 
the  Avater's  edge,  with  a  strip  of  meadow  below,  and 
the  river  lapping  its  sides.  Now,  about  three  parts  of 
the  way  down  the  cliff,  we  see  an  embankment,  deep 
cuttings,  fences,  telegraph  posts,  a  railroad, — what 
would  Wordsworth  say  if  he  could  see  his  beloved 
Tintern  thus  invaded  ?     Soon,  however,  the  excessive 


cH.  XXI.    The  Wye  from  Ross  to  Chepstow.    291 

steepness  of  the  cliffs  has  obliged  the  engineer  to  take 
his  work  out  of  sight  again,  and  the  line  makes  a 
sudden  plunge  round  a  sharp  curve  into  the  solid 
rock,  head  foremost.  What  becomes  of  it  afterwards 
the  happy  traveller  on  foot  will  probably  feel  no 
curiosity  to  ask. 

Through  that  pretty  little  toy,  the  ''Moss  Cottage," 
one  still  makes  the  ascent  of  the  Wyndcliffe.  Rheu- 
matism lords  it  over  this  abode,  and  has  seized  the 
poor  old  woman  who  lives  in  it,  and  tied  up  her  hands 
into  strange  knots,  and  persecuted  her  bitterly  in  all  her 
joints.  "I  have  lived  here  for  thirty-five  years,"  she 
said  to  me,  "  but  now  I  can  scarcely  move.  Can  you 
tell  me  of  anything  that  is  good  for  the  rheumatics, 
sir  ? 

"  The  oil  of  mustard  is  good,  but  I  am  afraid  your 
house  is  very  damp."  The  wet  was  trickling  down  the 
walls  in  a  small  and  steady  stream. 

She  shook  her  head.  "  My  husband  died  here  of 
the  rheumatics,  and  I  suppose  I  shall  have  to  go  too. 
I  live  here  all  the  year  round,  and  in  the  winter  it  is 
so  damp  that  you  could  wring  the  water  out  of  the 
clothes."  Her  knuckles  looked  like  the  "bosses" 
which  grow  on  trees.  From  this  poor  old  lady's 
damp  cell  it  is,  as  everyone  who  has  been  here  knows, 
a  steep  climb  up  the  hill,  not  to  be  recommended 
to  ladies,  for  the  steps  are  often  slippery  and  awkward, 
and  if  the  air  is  not  very  clear,  there  is  less  to  be 
seen  from  the  top  of  the  cliff  than  from  the  road. 
From  the  Chepstow  side  the  ascent  is  far  more  easy 


292         Field  Pat /is  and  Grcai  Lanes,     ch.  xxi. 

and  can,  indeed,  be  managed  the  greater  part  of  the 
distance  in  a  carriage.  As  for  the  view  when  the 
weather  is  favourable,  it  must,  like  other  wondrous 
things  in  nature,  be  left  undescri])ed— although  there 
is  a  very  good  account  of  it  in  Murray  s  Handbook. 
Immediately  below  is  the  curious  farm  of  Llancant,  in 
the  shajoe  of  a  horse-shoe,  with  the  Wye  running  round 
it  like  a  streak  of  silver.  To  the  right  is  Piercefield, 
those  beautiful  grounds  through  which  the  traveller  is 
free  to  walk,  and  which  will  take  him  a  long  way  on 
the  road  to  Chepstow,  where,  at  the  "  Beaufort  Arms," 
he  may  find  a  fair  night's  lodging. 

Can  anyone  tell  why  it  is  that  at  all  these  hotels 
only  two  or  three  things  fit  to  be  eaten  are  known  to 
the  landlords  ?  For  breakfast  you  are  invariably  offered 
"  'am  an'  eggs,"  while  for  dinner  in  this  region  the 
')nenii  is  never  altered — "box-tail,  sole,  and  a  cutlet." 
The  waiter  has  no  suggestions — he  runs  off  his  old  list 
glibly,  fidgets  the  spoons  about,  gives  his  dirty  neck-tie 
a  twist,  and  then  stands  smiling  vacantly.  "  Steak  or 
chop," — you  must  want  one  of  those  ?  No  ? — then  try 
the  cold  meat ;  or  come  now,  what  do  you  say  to  some 
briled  'am  ?  Not  like  that  either  ?  The  waiter,  who 
smells  horribly  of  brandy-and -water,  and  has  a  parlous 
red  face,  begins  to  look  upon  you  askance,  as  a  very 
objectionable  person.  Evidently  a  "gent  as  is  hard  to 
please."  Will  you  have  some  poached  heggs  ?  Last 
week  there  were  some  kidneys  in  the  house,  but  they 
are  all  gone.  Perhaps  it  is  quite  a^  well  that  they  are. 
The  visitor,  feeling  rather  rueful,  mildly  suggests  salmon. 


cH.  XXI.    The   Wye  from  Ross  to  Chepstow.     293 

You  might  as  well  ask  for  the  moon.  And  yet  there 
are  at  least  two  rivers  not  far  off  in  which  the  finest 
flavoured  salmon  in  the  world  is  caught.  But  you 
stand  a  much  better  chance  of  getting  a  Severn  salmon 
in  Bond  Street  than  you  do  at  Chepstow  or  Gloucester. 


THE   END, 


META  HOLDENIS. 

From  the  French  of  VICTOR   CHERBULIEZ, 

Author  of  "  Samuel  Brohl  and  Company,"  etc. 

Paper,  50  cents.         -        -        -        Cloth,  75  cents. 


From  the  New  York  Evening  Post. 

"  The  story  is  a  good  one  in  itself,  wholly  unlike  the  story  we  expect  in  a  novel. 
M.  Cherbuliez  is  an  artist,  a  genius,  to  whom  all  things  are  possible;  else  his  success 
in  writing  this  story  in  another  than  his  own  personality — creating  a  distinct  individual, 
and  then  making  his  creature  tell  it  from  his  own  point  of  view,  with  perfect  verisimili- 
tude— would  have  been  impossible.  It  is  admirable  in  itself,  and  as  an  example  of  the 
high  art  of  narration." 

From  the  New  York  Ex/>7-eis. 

"  A  powerful  story,  whose  characters  are  clearly  portrayed,  and  whose  accessories 
of  landscapes  and  the  like  are  beautifully  painted." 

From  the  New  York  World. 

"Cherbuliez  is,  after  Balzac  and  George  Sand,  the  first  novelist  of  France.  He  is 
more  of  an  artist,  and  has  more  insight  into  human  motives  and  actions,  than  other  con- 
temporary French  novelists." 

From  the  New  York  Sun. 

"A  companion-piece  to  'Samuel  Brohl  and  Company,'  and  a  book  which  should 
renew  the  notable  success  gained  by  the  English  version  of  the  latter  novel.  In  the 
present  volume  we  trace  the  fortunes  of  a  winsome  and  insinuating  governess,  so  hap- 
pily fashioned  by  Nature  for  strategy  and  wiles  as  to  continually  delude  herself.  As 
we  have  previously  spoken  of  Cherbuliez  in  connection  with  '  Samuel  Brohl  and  Com- 
pany,' we  need  only  add  that  the  action  of  '  Mela  Holdenis '  is  somewhat  more  fervid 
and  vigorous,  and  the  development  of  the  plot  more  piquant  to  curiosity.  We  com- 
mend it  to  the  reader  as  the  most  captivating  translation  from  the  French  which  has 
been  printed  in  a  twelvemonth." 

From  the  Philadelphia  IteiU. 

"  '  Meta  Holdenis '  holds  the  attention  of  the  reader  throughout,  as  the  analysis  of 
character;  the  dialogue,  the  descriptions,  and  the  details  of  the  novel,  are  all  in  Cher- 
buliez's  most  animated  and  sparkling  manner." 

Frojn  the  Hart/ord  Conrant. 
"  Anything  more  skillfully  wrought  out  than  the  character  of  '  Meta  Holdenis'  we 
have  not  met  in  a  long  time." 

From  the  Boston  Courier. 
"  The  story  is  artfully  contrived  and  graphically  told,  with  that  genius  for  the  dex- 
terous management  of  details  which  all  Frenchmen  seem  to  possess  in  some  measure, 
but  which  M.  Cherbuliez  has  in  an  eminent  degree." 


D.  APPLETON  &  CO.,  549  &  551  Broadway,  New  York. 


SCHOOLS  AND  MASTERS  OF  PAINTING, 

With  an  Appendix  on  the 

PRINCIPAL  GALLERIES  OF  EUROPE. 

Ey  a.  g.  radcliffe. 

I  vol.,  small  8vo Cloth,  $3.00. 

"  The  volume  is  one  of  great  practical  utility,  and  may  be  used  to  advantage  as  an 
artistic  guide-book  by  persons  visiting  the  collections  of  Italy,  France,  and  Germany, 
for  the  first  time.  The  twelve  great  pictures  of  the  world,  which  are  familiar  by  copies 
and  engravings  to  all  who  have  the  slightest  tincture  of  taste  for  art,  are  described  in  a 
special  chapter,  which  affords  a  convenient  stepping-stone  to  a  just  appreciation  of  the 
most  celebrated  masterpieces  of  painting.  An  important  feature  of  the  work,  and  one 
which  may  save  the  traveler  much  time  and  expense,  is  the  sketch  presented  in  the 
Appendix,  of  the  galleries  of  Florence,  Rome,  Venice,  Paris,  Dresden,  and  other  Eu- 
ropean collections." — N.  Y.  Tribune. 

"  Mrs.  Radcliffe  is  a  judicious  and  an  entertaining  guide,  thoroughly  acquainted 
with  her  subject,  and  writing  in  a  style  that  is  happily  free  from  the  disgusting  cant  of 
pretended  connoisseurship.  She  leads  her  readers  through  the  great  galleries,  discours- 
ing in  a  plain,  easily-understood  language.  She  has  collected  a  large  amount  of  useful 
information,  and  binds  the  divisions  of  her  subjects  together  with  a  thread  of  philo- 
sophical thought." — Saturday  Evening  Gazette. 

"  Admirably  illustrated  throughout,  and  presenting  as  it  does  the  different  schools 
in  an  orderly  and  methodical  manner,  it  commends  itself  strongly  to  the  art-student  and 
the  artist,  its  value  to  them  being  enhanced  by  the  Appendix,  with  its  catalogue  of  the 
noted  art-galleries  of  Europe." — Detroit  Free  Press. 

"  A  work  that  deserves  a  wide  sale,  and  one  that  is  especially  valuable  and  sugges- 
tive to  those  who  desire  a  knowledge  of  the  different  schools  of  painting,  from  the 
earlier  periods  to  the  present  time." — Pittsburg  Commercial. 

"  '  Schools  and  Masters  of  Painting,  with  an  Appendix  on  the  Principal  Galleries 
of  Europe,'  will,  we  are  sure,  meet  with  a  flattering  welcome  from  the  public.  It  is  at 
once  historical  and  descriptive,  giving  the  reader  a  clear  though  somewhat  minute  idea 
of  what  has  been  achieved  in  this  department  of  the  fine  arts.  The  author  has  not 
omitted  to  sketch  every  part  of  her  interesting  subject,  conveying  in  the  least  space 
consistent  with  the  purpose  designed  for  the  work  all  the  material  facts  with  which  the 
public  care  to  interest  themselves." — Troy  Times. 

"  Mrs.  A.  G.  Radcliffe,  the  author  of  this  book,  has  done  a  useful  work  in  giving, 
within  a  moderate  compass,  a  history  of  the  art  of  painting,  from  the  most  ancient  times 
to  our  day,  with  brief  accounts  of  the  more  famous  painters  and  their  works.  The  in- 
formation which  she  has  here  gathered  can  be  found  only  in  a  number  of  tomes,  of 
which  the  size  and  cost  put  them  beyond  the  purse  and  time  of  the  larger  portion  of 
general  readers.  But,  having  consulted  the  best  authorities,  and  made  herself  mistress 
of  what  they  have  told,  she  here  combines  the  pith  of  their  works  in  a  clear  and  inter- 
esting manner,  with  an  easy  and  practiced  pen." — N.  V.  Evening  Mail. 


Nfw  Vork:  D.  APPLETON  &  CO.,'Pubiishers. 


UNIVERSITY  OF  CALIFORNIA  LIBRARY 

Los  Angeles 
Tlufi  book  is  DUE  on  the  last  date  stamped  below. 


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UC  SOUTHERN  REGIONAL  LIBRARY  FftC|Li]>' 


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